Monthly Archives: August 2018

Another of Life’s Little Surprises

Have you ever had the opportunity to know, or as in my case, to work with a really memorable character?  One of those rare individuals who stand out from the crowd due to their life experiences, their sense of humor, or their easygoing curmudgeonry?

Well, I have.  His name was Bill and I had the good fortune to work with him for about eight years beginning in the late 80’s.  Bill was a human warehouse of humorous anecdotes regarding things that he had seen and done, the source of countless limericks learned in his college days, and wellspring of unique descriptive phrases which I came to realize were mostly of his own creation.

Bill was 15 or so years my senior and as he moved closer to retirement age he began to describe his problem with weight control as “Creeping Obesity“.  It’s a concept with which many folks who are in, or moving beyond, their middle years can readily identify.

Two events that I’ve experienced over the past two days caused me to recall Bill’s Creeping Obesity and to recognize a parallel condition that I’ll identify as Creeping Dotage; dotage being a nice word for senility.

Like most people, I have a smartphone, an iPhone in my case, and I carry it with me for nearly 100% of my waking hours.  If it’s not in my hand, it’s in one of my pant’s pockets, or sitting on a table or desk in front of me.

Two days ago, I was walking through my kitchen when I thought of something that I needed to check on.  I’ve known for some time that the answer to any and all questions can be found with a quick and simple Google, so I reached into my pocket for my phone.

But it wasn’t there! No problem, I must have left it on the desk beside my computer. Nope, it wasn’t there.  Maybe I left it downstairs when I was checking the weather on the TV.  Nope.  Did I leave it in the laundry room? Nope.  The bedroom? Nope…… and on and on and on!

I walked through and searched every room in this house at least 3 times without finding the phone.  As I was approaching total exasperation, I walked for a fourth time into the den where I had been watching TV.

As I was approaching the chair in which I normally sit, something in the deep recesses of the back of my mind told me to look down. There, laying in plain sight on the Persian carpet, but perfectly camouflaged, was my iPhone.  The phone, in it’s jet black case, presumably had fallen off of my lap as I had gotten up from the chair and had landed face down in an area of the rug which was equally dark.

Fast forward one day to yesterday.  Sitting in the living room, I remembered that I wanted to check on a baseball score from the previous night, so I reached into my pocket to get my phone, but wait, it’s not there!

Two days in a row!  Surely not! This can’t be!

By this point, I’m confident that you know the drill and will understand that after 3 or 4 circuits of every room in this house, my iPhone was still AWOL.

Equally concerned with the sieve that my mind was apparently becoming and with my inability to locate the missing phone, in desperation I walked one last time into the room which serves as my office.  I scanned the desk and moved everything that was on it.  No phone.  Then that same remote place in the back of my mind whispered to me, “Move the office chair!

iphoneI reached down and grabbed the arm of the chair.  But wait!  What’s this?  As my hand wrapped around the chair’s arm rest, I realized that it had also wrapped itself around my perfectly camouflaged iPhone which had been hidden in plain sight resting on the jet black arm rest.

I’m pleased to report that it’s after 2:00 pm.  It’s been over 24 hours since the last unfortunate incident and the iPhone is resting peacefully on a piece of lily white paper just to the left of my computer as I type these words.

Yes, Bill.  I hear you.  Undeniably, it’s Creeping Senility.

Photo by Tyler Lastovich on Unsplash

Give ’em an inch…..

redlightI’m old enough to remember when drivers did not have the freedom to pull up to a traffic light which happened to be red and then make a right turn after coming to a complete stop.

Generally known as “Right on Red”, this rule of the road was legalized in all 50 U.S. states way back in 1980.

I’m curious.  Is there any state in which drivers still routinely come to a complete stop before exercising their prerogative to turn right on red?  I didn’t think so.

It appears that most drivers currently interpret “Right on Red” to mean that it’s totally acceptable for them to cruise, drift, meander, careen, or roll through red traffic lights as long as they meet the minimum requirement of executing a right turn in the process.

stop-signAbout now, someone is probably thinking, “What’s the big deal?”  Admittedly, this may seem like a very minor bending of the “Right on Red” statue.  Except for the fact that many drivers, at least where I live, are now also applying the assumed freedom to cruise, drift, meander, careen, or roll to the act of making right turns at Stop signs.

From there, it’s a very short step to assuming that if one can make right turns when the traffic light is red, why isn’t it also permissible to cruise, drift, meander, careen, or roll straight through red traffic lights as well?  Assuming of course, there are no other cars attempting to make it through the same intersection at the same time under the auspices of a green light.

Based on my own casual observations while driving locally, it appears that most drivers have long ago deemed the yellow caution traffic lights to be a nothing more than a nuisance and the need to pay attention to them to be completely optional.  Gradually, that same mindset is being applied to red lights.

Just the other day, I observed three cars driving back-to-back through the red light at a very busy intersection near my home.  To be clear, they were not attempting to sneak through the yellow light only to be a bit late in doing so.  No, all three cars drove straight through the traffic light clearly after it had already changed from yellow to red.

Seeing one car zip through a red light has unfortunately become commonplace, but to witness three at the same time left me utterly dumbfounded.  It’s one thing to care so little for your own safety and well-being, but to rashly jeopardize that of other people is totally unacceptable.

I’ll complete the well known axiom that I used in the title of this post, “Give ’em an inch, and they’ll take a mile.”  Or maybe it’s two.

Human nature is alive and well and, often to our detriment, being generously applied in the interpretation of the rules of the road.

Be safe out there and remember to drive defensively!

Boomers R Us

I can’t figure out how to turn that “R” around in the title of this post or I would.  Then again, it’s probably for the best that I don’t, if for no other reason than to avoid unwanted conflicts of interests with the other more well known users of that reversed letter.

I’m a Baby Boomer.  I’ve known that for over 6 decades, but I’ve never really thought about what the definition of a baby boomer is until today.  So I looked it up.  The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines baby boomers as those who were born between the years of 1946 and 1964.  I was surprised to learn that the “boom” didn’t last longer than 1964, but there you have it.  I found it on the internet, so it must be true.

Wikipedia adds an additional distinction, stating that those who were born between 1946 and 1955 are classified as Leading Edge Baby Boomers.  I had no idea, but it’s nice to learn that I’m finally on the leading edge of something!

I guess that also means that I’m on the front end of that much anticipated bubble of baby boomers who are already retired or who are in the process of planning to retire within the next few years.

retirementI retired a little over six months ago and have found retirement to be a state of being for which I may be uniquely qualified and certainly one which I am finding to be very enjoyable and rewarding.

The process of transitioning from full time employment to full time retirement is a subject which is deserving of its own blog post, so I’ll save that topic for another day.

What’s really on my mind as I write this installment is the subject of what it takes in terms of available assets to be financially able to retire.

In the process of meeting with my financial advisor prior to reaching the decision to retire, I was very surprised to learn from him that studies indicate that roughly 60% of all baby boomers are currently not financially able to afford retirement.

This immediately reminded me of several commercials I’ve seen on TV recently in which people (actors) are asked to project how much money they believe they’ll need to retire comfortably for the remainder of their lives.  They are then shocked when they see the projections which indicate that those funds will be totally depleted after just a few short years.

I remember a good friend telling me that if she and her husband could only get their savings up to $200,000.00, they would be in good shape for retirement.

Financial-analysisDetermining what it will take to be financially able to retire involves a very thorough understanding of one’s current assets, current liabilities, current income, as well as projecting what one’s liabilities and income will be during retirement, projecting the costs involved with the activities one wants to do while they are retired, and just how long one expects that they will be retired (the somewhat touchy subject of one’s life expectancy).

It’s extremely unlikely that there are many healthy baby boomers out there who will be able to afford to retire for any length of time with as little as $200,000.00 socked away in their cookie jar.

Interestingly, the Merriam-Webster dictionary adds this caveat to their section defining baby boomers:

Industry experts predict that reverse mortgages will play an increasingly important role in the coming years as some 70 million baby boomers hit their 60s—often with a lot less saved than they’d hoped.

I’m confident that this will be true, but I can’t see how reverse mortgages will even come close to bridging the gap between the assets required to fund retirement and the assets that are actually available.

In this regard, the next 20 or so years are going to be very interesting; politically, economically, and culturally.

 

 

 

Vehicular Graffiti

While driving across town running an errand this morning, I pulled up behind this truck at a traffic light.  I was so taken by the truth of the sentiment being expressed on the back of the truck that I threw caution to the wind, whipped out the trusty iPhone, and fired off a shot with it’s camera.

12EAD653-3001-4646-AEDF-AC26D34747A2

I’m equally impressed with what must have been the steadiness of the anonymous scribe’s hand as he was applying his message with a can of spray paint.

The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls….

Simon and Garfunkel
The Sounds of Silence

…. and also on pickup truck tailgates.

 

 

Whiskers vs Beards

Is there a distinction between whiskers and beards?

I’m not sure I would have ever thought so, but for an article I read many years ago which pointed out that men sporting facial hair who happened to have the reputation for being ne’er do wells, villainous, or simply in disrepute were more often than not described as wearing whiskers.  Whereas, men with facial hair who were admired, of high character, and just all around good guys were adorned with beards.

On October 15, 1860, 11 year old Grace Bedell of Westfield, NY wrote a letter to Abraham Lincoln, who at the time was running for the office of President of the United States.  In it, she wrote:

I have yet got four brothers and part of them will vote for you any way and if you let your whiskers grow I will try and get the rest of them to vote for you you would look a great deal better for your face is so thin.

Within a month, Lincoln had grown a full beard, softened his visage, and shortly became the 16th President.  It’s interesting to note that after assuming the office, his “whiskers” were thereafter most often referred to as a beard.  At least by those residing above the Mason-Dixon Line.

I’ve grown a few beards in my time, at least five that I can recall.  I’m referring to them as beards because I’m presuming that I don’t qualify as a ne’er do well.  Two were grown during my college days, two during my working career, and the last being the one I’m now maintaining.

my-beardDue to my Scottish highland ancestry, the two college era beards were of a reddish, auburn hue, while the two grown during my middle years slowly morphed into shades of light brown.  As you can see, my current effort has taken on a somewhat more philosophical shade of white.

gabby-hayes-4I seem to think much more deeply about things since I began to let it grow a few weeks ago.  As such, I can’t decide whether the beard makes me look more like Ernest Hemingway, Leonardo da Vinci, or Sigmund Freud.  Others have suggested that perhaps Gabby Hayes would be the better comparison.

As a footnote, the mustache adorning my upper lip has been in place without interruption since 1973.  Beards, and/or whiskers, may come and go, but the ‘stache is here to stay.

But back to whiskers vs beards.  Facial hair on men is quite common these days, but I rarely if ever hear it described as whiskers.  I’m quite confident that this is not due to a general decline in the numbers of ne’er do wells and villains.  On the contrary, those numbers are decidedly on the increase.  I can only assume that the term whiskers has fallen out of use due to the never ending evolution of language and the words we choose to use.

A decent beard has long been
the number one must-have
fashion item for any

fugitive from justice.

–  Craig Brown

Sleep with Honor

HammockI’m a fairly pragmatic individual, so when I find that my eyelids are growing heavy, regardless of the time of day, I’ll say to myself and to anyone else within earshot, “It’s time for a bit of sleep with honor.”  Invariably, this will lead me to the nearest sofa, recliner, bed, or other comfortable flat surface for a few moments of repose and restoration.

I began using the phrase, sleep with honor, during my Junior year of college.  Thankfully, the Vietnam War was beginning to wind down and the Paris Peace Accord had been signed.  Then President Richard Nixon gave a speech on January 23, 1973 in which he described the accord as providing the means for the U.S. to obtain “Peace with Honor” which had been a campaign promise he’d made way back in 1968.

The Vietnam War had been a hot topic on college campuses all across America since the mid-60’s and squarely on the mind of all military draft eligible male college students.  For that reason, the phrase Peace with Honor resonated with me, and many others, as representing something which I could and would heartily embrace.

Even as a college student, I was never a believer in late nights or burning the candle at both ends.  Whenever I found myself growing weary, I assumed that my body was attempting to tell me something and that I’d be wise to pay attention.  As I referenced earlier, I’ve always been a bit pragmatic.

Consequently, I never hesitated to call it a night and head to bed when the mood struck, regardless of the fervor with which I had been studying or (perhaps more likely) the intensity of the party that was rolling along in the apartment next door.

In response to the inevitable inquiries shouted in my direction by apartment mates and friends as I left in search of peace and quiet in my own apartment, I’d simply reply, “It’s time for a bit of sleep with honor.”

And I’d then go softly into that good night.

 

Photo by Mateusz Dach from Pexels

In Praise of Peanut Butter

You possibly may recall that in my last post, my wife had sent me to the store in search of, among other things, peanut butter.  Hold that thought for a moment.

I’m a child of the 50’s, the 1950’s to be specific. Compared to the culture and society that we have decided to saddle ourselves with in the 20-teens, the 50’s were a simpler and more innocent time.

Today happens to be the first day of the new school year in my neck of the woods.  As such, traffic conditions have gone from simply being atrocious to approaching near gridlock in many areas.  This is largely due to the fact that today’s school age child requires transportation to school with the preferred method being catching a ride with Mom or Dad in the family car. There are some children who ride the school buses which add to the traffic snarl, but almost no students simply find their way to their school of their own accord.

Mother seeing children off to schoolThere were school buses in the 50’s, but the predominant method for kids to get to their school was on foot, as in walking, or on a self-powered bicycle.  Personally, I alternated between these two methods.  From the 1st through 6th grades, it was a rare occurrence for either of my parents to drive my brother and I to school.  When I reached junior high school, commonly known as middle school today, I had no choice but to ride in a school bus because of the distance involved.

I completely understand the reasons why kids are chauffeured to school in such great numbers these days.  It gets back to that culture and society that we have decided to saddle ourselves with.  So, enough said.

Gastronomically speaking, school lunches were similarly simple and innocent back in the 50’s.  Our school year was roughly 9 months in length.  Assuming a 5 day school week for 9 months, there were approximately 200 days per year on which I took my lunch to school in a brown paper bag.

By the way, where I went to school in the 50’s, there were no teacher work days and the concept of a spring and/or winter break from classes had not even been sighted on long-range radar.

200 brown bag lunches per school year meant the preparation and consumption of somewhere close to 150 peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  Those were prepared using only creamy peanut butter.  My Mother considered crunchy peanut butter to be too exotic for general consumption.  Likewise, only white bread was eaten in my family. Whole grain breads, or any bread exhibiting even the slightest tinge of color, were never consumed in my house.

Peanutbuttersandwich

Before spreading the peanut butter on the bread, my Mother would first apply a healthy amount of butter.  It was probably margarine, but no peanut butter sandwich I consumed between the ages of 5 and 15 was considered to be complete without a slathering of butter separating the bread from the peanut butter.  It’s just the way it was done.

The remaining 50 or so of my brown bag sandwiches typically consisted of a slice of bologna (we knew that it was really called baloney) layered between two slices of the same lily white bread, each of which had been generously coated with mayonnaise.

Keep in mind that those brown bags were not insulated and the schools I attended were not air conditioned.  Likewise, these were the days before zip lock plastic bags.  Loose fitting waxed paper was the preferred method of wrapping up a sandwich for later consumption.  Depending on the weather, there were times when the mayonnaise would take on a sort of yellowish transparency by the time our lunch period rolled around.

In any event, my Mom’s homemade sandwiches were head and shoulders above those made by the lunchroom ladies.  Those often featured stale bread which had been lightly misted with water in order to soften them up a bit.

We had never heard of gluten, GMO’s, monosodium glutamate, or the concept of “healthy eating”.  Somehow, we managed to survive childhood in spite of that.

Which inexplicably brings me back to yesterday’s trip to the grocery store to get, among other things, peanut butter.  As I was scanning the multiple varieties of peanut butters being offered up for purchase, I came across one that I had never seen before.  Extra Crunchy Peanut Butter.  Now I love peanuts; especially the salted-in-the-shell kind you can get at baseball games, so I threw all caution to the wind and bought a jar of the extra crunchy variety.

It’s been a real game changer for me.  Eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich made with the extra crunchy stuff is the culinary equivalent to walking barefoot over a gravel driveway.  I may never go back to plain ol’ creamy.

Back in the day, if my Mother had had access to extra crunchy peanut butter, I would have never needed the token variety in lunchtime fare offered up by those baloney sandwiches with their transparent mayonnaise.

Bon Appétit!