Fully retired once again. No work, no commitments, no time schedule. The sun once again has become my alarm clock. I enjoy the brewed coffee alone while Robin and Brutus continue to dream. A morning walk through the campground, around the lake gives time for reflection. My own contentment allows for thoughts to run rampant. I ponder on this freestyle life of travel and migration. You are no longer who you were. The new people you meet in your life don’t judge you for what you did, who you are, where you came from. There is no past to hold against you for no one knows of any. When you travel, you are what you are right then and there. All that is—is today. There are no yesterdays on the road. An hour goes by and my reflection is interrupted by others walking the park. We exchange pleasantries. There are always smiles. Back to the motorhome for granola and raisins. The roommates have risen and are stirring about. I notice the vast array of things out of their place and cabinet doors open. Uh oh! She’s on a downsizing junket again. I take my breakfast sustenance outside and declare that I need to get my dumbbell routine done. Perhaps this will keep me from another one of her cleaning projects. After a brief workout, I’m sure I’ve escaped the drudgery of housework. But as I weave my way back to the bathroom I see clothes strewn on the bed. Apparel that has not been worn in months, probably never will be and I’m instructed to rid my closet of items not used. The Goodwill angels are smiling once again. Robin was again correct. I can’t believe the things I still save and will literally have no use for in the future. Four bags of almost new items are packed and readied for others. This task accomplished and still only 10 a.m. Satisfied with a job well done, we decide to call it a day, and head for the links, as we haven’t played golf in almost two weeks. The schedule of always moving, always staying busy, has kept my mind from the imminent departure in a few days. The upcoming trip is not looked on as favorably as any other road trip. I only have six days until going under the knife. Two months ago, I put up a calendar counting down the days from 60. Crossing off 59 and 58, I pitched the schedule into the garbage. X ing out the days one by one would only give rise to thinking about this on a daily basis. Why ask for ill thoughts or depression. There will be time enough to think about surgery the night before. It is time to live for today.