Cape Cod north shore

I love it here, Cape Cod. The sea is so deep blue set against the pale blue sky. There is a cool north wind to balance the sun’s fierce rays. And, after an all-day 12 mile walk along the north shore, I can report that there is no-one here. I am alone with only the right whales spouting, breaching and tail flipping to offer company. It is such a privileged sight.

I’m told that life after teaching is usually consumed by working on “the book”. With much time to reflect on what to do next, I find I have little enthusiasm for the task. Is there life and identity after work? Cape Cod is an inspiring place, and therapeutic for us searching souls. The owner of the Inn that is home in “P” (Province) town for a few days used to be “big” in industry and, on retirement, his lovely Inn has become his retirement project. Local retired guys take it in turn as volunteers to look after the lighthouse – it is their passion which is infectious.

So, should I sit at my desk, or in a library, looking-up countless references and preparing endless footnotes for a tome that no-one will read? Maybe not.

The head of research at my college, trying to be helpful and realistic, once told me, and others, that getting anything published is near impossible – why, he asked would anyone want to read your work? I’ve no idea I thought. So dispiriting. Well, it does not matter now.

Birds on the Beach

Cape Cod is the place for lobster and chowder, and a generous supper awaits at the Lobster Pot. Even though it is pre-season here, the place is heaving with diners but I’m sure they can squeeze an old lady in somewhere, perhaps even by the window overlooking the bay.

If only they (my students) could see me now – gone are the formal scholarly black clothes and sensible shoes; for me, it’s shorts, sandals and a t-shirt.

And, for now, in the soft evening light at the Inn, a blank page.

I’m sitting here looking at the sea after 40 years as a galley slave. You know the drill – up at 6/6.30 am, pack your work bag, rush for the train, plane, car, work and then get home so tired you could cry. Every day. I’ve seen all manner of mess-ups, silliness and arrogance masquerading as modernisation, reorganisation, and efficiency drives in both the public and private sectors. I’ve seen terrible behaviours, sneakiness and downright dishonesty. But none of this matters now. The sky is so blue, the sea so sparkly turquoise in the sun, and there is a warm breeze blowing in from the Azores warming my face as I sip my coffee here at the beachside café.

Chef, who runs the place, is so kind – he saved me some fish today for when the visitors have gone home, and he cooks it to perfection – silky smooth, with my favourite vegetables.

After 40 years, I have become nothing, invisible; I’m just an old lady by the sea. I can look back on a career to reflect on the textbook view of management – I used to teach this stuff – and what happens in practice. Despite it all, still they come – youngsters trying to get a start in their working lives. I really do admire them – so fresh, so keen, so enthusiastic, so hardworking. And then there are the mid-career and older workers who are fading in their presence and enthusiasm for old wine in new bottles. I admire them too – how do they do it? Turn up each day and get through all that organisational stuff. They too are worthy of praise. This crazy life of work has been useful however for my dealings with the Parish Council – there is much to tell. Being crackers is not confined to formal organisations.

Well reader, the gardeners are coming soon and we have to plan this year’s terrace plantings and the veggie boxes, and I need to check the beach to see if it’s still there as the tide is going out.