This is the latest in an occasional series of blog posts commenting on upcoming retirement.

I once knew this guy, the late Neil McKay, who was fond of poking fun at people.

“Aww,” Neil would say, “he doesn’t even know what day it is.” He meant the jab in a sort of kind-hearted way.

If he were around today, he could say that very thing about me.

It would be true … almost!

Back in the day, when I was working full time for a living, I had to know what day it is. It was imperative. I lived on deadlines and getting my work done by a certain time and a certain day — or else. Journalism makes those demands on those who practice the craft.

Now? I’m hard-pressed on occasion to keep ’em straight.

I’m aware that today is Friday. In fact, I rolled out of bed this morning knowing it. But the days do arrive when I cannot quite grasp the day of the week.

I end up looking at my watch — yes, I still wear one of those things on my wrist — to make sure I know the day.

The notion of retirement is freeing me of the time-sensitive obligations that tie down most of you working stiffs. Even though I’m there yet and have not arrived at the “fully retired” stage of life, I find myself grasping at times for information that I had locked in my noggin.

The day of the week? Gosh, I don’t know. Let me check.

My major concern these days — other than planning the next RV outing with my wife or awaiting the next visit with our granddaughter — seems to be ensuring that I am able to see the sun rise the next morning.

Four years and two months into this new, semi-retired phase of life, I’m happy to say … so far, so good.