The retirement workload isn’t enough to earn pay

We all hear much about a “living wage.” The government releases figures about a national living wage. Workers report their living wage is too low. Bosses counter that they are paying above the living wage. So just what is a living wage?
It’s pretty obvious the living wage scale for the Midwest is not the same for those who live and work in the heavily populated areas such as the east or west coasts, or even for some who live in isolated areas such as Alaska. The government justifies its living wage info being keyed to national poverty guidelines.
Let’s face it, we all feel we are under-paid...even when we’re retired and that weekly paycheck is no more. In my case, I’ve looked back over the past 18 years of retirement and figured I haven’t done much to even deserve a wage of any kind -- living or otherwise. The Betterhalf, no doubt, concurs. However, I should report she contributed to some of my nonproductive retirement workload.
For instance in the first week of retirement I attempted to rearrange foods stored in the pantry. I compounded my road to demise when, in her absence, I also “straightened up” some items in the kitchen cabinetry.
Her appreciation was emphasized when she told me, “to stay out of her kitchen.” She also emphasized if she needed my help she would let me know.
Over the years she has softened that attitude somewhat. I do know how to load the dishwasher, but not start it. I can run the microwave in one minute increments and I get to take the recycle bin and trash container to curbside on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I put my dirty clothes in the hamper...have shined her boots a couple of times and am solely in charge of oil changes on the vehicles.
So you can see my retirement job experience is slowly growing. As far as me ever reaching the point of receiving a living wage that question might never be answered. I guess I should be satisfied with a few benefits: meals, a neat household and, of course, sleeping with the boss!
***
A little boy pointed to a cage of green parakeets in the pet shop window.
“Look Mommy,” he exclaimed, “there are some canaries that aren’t ripe yet!”
RL Furse  is publisher emeritus of the News-Register

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