My Day in Paradise

We all look forward to that day when we can take the exit ramp from the rat race and coast into a blissful retirement. A time when our day is filled with trips to exotic places and leisure time spent with our loving children and grandchildren. Of course by the time you get to that exit ramp most of those plans are set aside because you are too busy with everything that you have to do now that you are retired. I’m not talking about all of those big projects like painting the house which you postponed until retirement, because now that you have the time getting on a ladder is impossible unless you are looking for a large insurance settlement. No – I’m talking about all of those simple little tasks like mowing the lawn or shopping for groceries. Of course I really love grocery shopping because I amuse myself as I cruise through the aisles randomly dropping products into the shopping carts of people who I think could use these products. My favorite is finding the person who has filled their cart with mountains of high fiber, low calorie, organic foods and dropping in a jar of Cheese Whiz.

But there are other simple tasks that seem to morph into major projects, like my recent attempt to water the lawn. Now watering the lawn doesn’t require a lot of skill, essentially it only requires placing the sprinkler on the lawn and turning the water on. But yesterday I turned the water on and noticed the hose connector to the sprinkler was leaking. I immediately got out my knife to cut off the end of the hose so I could replace it with a shiny new one. But senior citizens are a little forgetful and what I forgot was turning off the water BEFORE performing major hose surgery. Water gushes out soaking my pants leaving the impression that I might want to consider purchasing some “Depends”. Once I turned the water off and removed the end of the hose – only cutting myself once, I was ready to install the new connector. The connector was in one of those new plastic theft proof packages that require a sledge hammer or acetylene torch to penetrate. I did finally get the connector free – cutting myself the second time – and was ready for the installation – once I loosened the screws, which had been installed with super glue. Nevertheless I did get them loose cutting myself for the third time – except this time there was enough blood to warrant a CSI investigation. But I press on hampered only slightly by the band-aids and bandage, and eventually getting the new connector installed and the hose connected. I turn the water on and VOILA!! Water is squirting from the new connector with enough force and volume to wet me once again from top to bottom giving the impression that I am in the midst of a Depends crisis. I turned the water off (I learn fast) disconnected the offending hose, deposited it in the trash and installed a new hose straight from the store – leaky hose problem solved!! .

One of the major issues facing you in retirement is how to amuse your self once you tire of the Cheese-Whiz gambit. We see on television all of those wonderful retirement communities filled with senior citizens filling their time with exercise and blooming with the health that the average twenty year old would love to have. These advertisements promise a social life filled friends playing tennis and golf in between sailing in your own yacht and catching record breaking marlin. Well some people believe there’s a free lunch too, but the social circle for most retirees consists of bank clerks, the pharmacist, and a variety of doctors – with a couple that are on speed dial. So I don’t know where those senior citizens – as seen on TV – live and play but I strongly suspect they are photo-shopped twenty-something models. Just look at their waists, perfect teeth, tanned bodies and with hair in all of the ‘RIGHT” places. Real seniors have hair in all of the wrong places and haven’t seen a 30 inch waist in decades.

But there are some bright sides to retirement – in sort of a weird way. As we age our vision begins to play tricks on us. That is you see signs that you misread which can lead to some very funny times. For example something flashed across my TV screen that said “…dedicated heroism” except I read “… dedicated heroin” or on FaceBook the posting read “touch a hamster” but I read “touch a teamster” – the brain does pay tricks. So when I noticed a sign that said – in large bold letters – COOK WANTED. I laughed and said to my wife “Did you see that sign?” I think I’ll apply. She rolled her eyes, snickered and said “forgettaaboutit – it’s hard work and I don’t think you’re up for it!!. This ability to communicate is just one of life’s blessings that comes with age.

While retirement has many blessings there are some downsides, for example you lose your cutting edge with current culture and ability to communicate with the young. Recently I stopped into a Starbucks coffee shop for a cup of coffee but that turned out to be a humiliating experience because I hadn’t studied and wasn’t prepared for the test. I didn’t know how to order because I didn’t know that there was a process. . First you have to stand in a certain place to order and a special place to pick up your order – these instructions were administered in a style I that I associated with Nazi like precision. Once I moved to the “order station” I found you cannot just order a cup of coffee because there is a quiz. First you are asked what bean do you want? Very odd question which I failed because the only beans I know are baked or refried. Wrong answer – so the semi-friendly waitress (whom I’m sure was a Hitler Youth commandant) moved on to question two which was “the roast”. “I want coffee” was clearly the wrong answer once again because the young lady (silently named Brunhilda) moved on to the final question which was “whatsizedoyouwant”. With as much dignity as I had remaining I said “small” knowing that I would at least get one question right! Wrong again!! Brunhilda was no longer even talking she just pointed to a series of code words and since the only word I recognize is ‘Grande” I ended with enough coffee and caffeine to power the space shuttle. Later one of my young friends tells me that Starbucks doesn’t have waitresses they are called Baristas. I was amazed because I thought a Barista was a Guatemalan revolutionary.

So my next project for cultural enlightenment is to find out what a Kardashian is? That’s for my next report from paradise.

Just Another Day In Paradise

It seems all of our lives we look forward to retirement – right up to the time when it actually happens. Then we are faced with the reality that we must fill every day with interest and activity. For some this isn’t a challenge, they simply substitute paid work for unpaid work in the form of volunteering and others choose to travel while others simply go back to work. But then there is that small minority who simply try to withstand the daily adventure and mini-disasters that seem to follow them around, my wife and I seem to fall into that category. I offer a typical day in our retirement paradise.

Being retired we have no reason to rise before the chickens but after 40 years of greeting the sun with mixed emotions, it is now impossible to sleep in. Well not really – we sleep late now and don’t get up before 6 AM, which some see as the reason senior citizens are so crabby – they’re sleep deprived. But not us – we bounce out of bed each day ready for adventure. Of course we must admit there is less bounce than there used to be and some days we have to have a full Homeland Security groping just to ensure all of the body parts are intact, but still we start each day with enthusiasm. But – as the usual day in our retirement paradise progresses our enthusiasm wanes and today was very typical.

As usual we were up with the chickens and skipped downstairs, the skipping was due to having left our glasses downstairs and not being able to see all of the steps, so we skipped a couple. THAT gave us a good adrenalin rush, which we counted as our cardio-workout for the day. And now we were ready for breakfast. Contrary to what we tell our doctors we really don’t eat high fiber, low cholesterol, low carbohydrate, health foods so widely advertised on TV. You know the ones that promise perfect children, tight butts for life, and no need for health insurance. Instead we opt for the traditional breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast, which would send our doctors into cardiac arrest if they knew, so we feel we are actually helping save their lives by telling them that we have given up real food and rely on better living through chemistry. But it isn’t like we are ignoring all aspects of the healthy life style. We no longer fry our eggs in the bacon grease but instead we use real butter – totally natural foods for us – no longer any of that processed junk peddled by the Pillsbury Dough Boy and his junk food pushing buddies like General Mills.

So this morning’s menu called for poached eggs on buttered toast with sausage. This was a simple healthy breakfast – easy to make, which I managed to whip up within minutes, but as usual nothing ever goes according to the plan. So I sat down for my breakfast and poked my fork into my poached egg. POW!!! My egg exploded!! This was not just some little poof – I mean it was like a car bomb. The yoke blew up and threw the yoke all over me, the table, and the floor. I figured I had been attacked by an egg bomb planted by some extremist militant PETA inspired chicken. Or maybe it was my doctor sending me the message to stick to egg whites, I don’t know which but I definitely was left with egg on my face. Well there was the sausage left so I stuck my fork into it. It was like releasing Niagara. It began to shoot a liquid clear across the plate and right onto my chest. I jumped back and yelled “My sausage just pissed on me!!” That turned out to be a poor choice of words because my wife wasn’t clear on just what sausage I was referring to and sort of took the position of “SO--? what else is new?” Another one of my failures in communications, but it seemed clear to me that I had been attacked by my breakfast, but I quickly decided I wasn’t dealing with an attack by PETA, the sausage was just showing solidarity with that Chicken or maybe it was the doctor delivering a symbolic message regarding my health choices.

So as you can see it wasn’t even 6:30 AM and our day was already off to a rocky start. But the sun came up, the day dawned, and so began another day in our little retirement paradise. I began working on my computer while The Commander In Chief (aka the wife) started her usual mysterious banging, tearing, squashing, and talking to herself. Suddenly there was an animal like scream and she immediately activated her emergency -- knight in shining armor alarm – that’s me, although the response time isn’t quite as fast as it used to be. So I dash downstairs – well dash at my age isn’t quite as fast as it once was but I arrive out of breath and in a rush of adrenalin (second cardio for the day). Of course I hadn’t heard the initial cry but I certainly hear the second one. It definitely sounds like an animal and it is in the HOUSE!! We immediately launch a search – well I search while my wife remains barricaded behind the chairs. After searching high and low, I bump into the package of toys she had wrapped for our grandchildren -- VOILA` The package emits this animal like cry!! She shouts “IT’S THE MONKEY!!” and of course being totally involved in all domestic events -- at a casual interest level -- I shout “WHAT MONKEY” Well it seems that as a welcome gift for my new iPhone, Verizon sent a monkey – Don`t ask because I don’t get the symbolism either. It seems my darling wife – had packed this monkey with the other toys destined for our grandchildren. This monkey makes screaming sounds as if it were being tortured (probably by a competitor like AT&T?)when moved or disturbed – mystery solved. So it was now lunch time and we have had two cardio-work outs and enough excitement for another typical day in retirement paradise. How the United Postal Service will react to this package is to be determined.

Past My Expiration Date

As much as I am loathe to admit it, I am definitely past my expiration date because I am finding it more and more difficult to simply function at the same speed and with the same understanding as everyone else. For example, I was able to master Starbucks – well not master perhaps but certainly able to cope with the numerous types of coffee but no just plain old regular coffee. I accepted this as a brilliant marketing ploy that allowed some very smart young entrepreneur to squeeze $3.00 extra for a fifty cent cup of coffee. I was even able to accept such things as Hazel Nut, Vanilla, and Blueberry coffee, but this week I realized that I was slipping far behind those in the know.

I went to order my breakfast of a High Fibre, Carrot laden, Coconut laced, Raisin filled Bran Muffin and Coffee at one of the low cost low service restaurant / kiosks in California, when the clerk/waitress stumped me with “Whaddya want-- Light. Medium, or Dark? I had no idea what she was asking and must have looked like some refugee from the dark hinterlands known as the “Flyovers” – which of course I was. In any event before, I could summon my wits and respond she seized the moment – obviously recognizing my confusion and saved the day by saying – “the Roast – the Roast – whatkinda roast ya want? I responded that I wanted coffee then realized she was referring to the coffee beans, but then I still had no idea about how to respond, because I have no idea regarding how I prefer my beans roasted. Usually I just open a can of coffee and proceed from there, but now I realize that I am not just old fashioned, I am downright primal and totally devoid of any of the refinements currently associated with being a member of the sophisticated class. So I bowed my head and mumbled – medium – obviously the pathway selected by the indecisive and those unable to discern the difference between roasts or coffee’s.

But this isn’t the first time that I have been totally stumped in the decision department. Have you tried to buy orange juice recently? When I was a kid I simply produced my nickel for the milk monitor and he / she gave me my bottle of orange juice. Later as an adult I would buy containers of orange juice but then I had to decide between “from concentrate” or --- well they never said – it was either from concentrate or it was that same old stuff you used to buy. But recently I went to buy orange juice and was confronted with no pulp, some pulp, lots of pulp, with Calcium, Heart Healthy, and I lost track at that point but fortunately there was a young man there stocking the orange juice, so I asked him where the regular orange juice was. He stared at me for a moment in wide-eyed wonder – laughed hysterically and went back to his duties. Presumably regular orange juice like regular coffee no longer exists.

Up to this point my experiences could be written off to my general lack of involvement in contemporary shopping. After all I don’t live in the environs of Starbucks and I rarely shop for anything unless you call a drive-through meal – shopping. But the end of my innocence came with the new microwave. Having been involved in computers and computer technology since there were such things as computers, I regard myself as reasonably knowledgeable in things technical. Still I knew the day would come when machines would know more than me and out new microwave definitely falls into this category. I’m accustomed to machines that are essentially binary – they are either “on” or they are “off”. Of course with the new technology we added things to them like clocks. So then we had machines that were either on or off and blinked 12:00, in sort of a Zen like reminder that life is passing you by while you read the instructions on how to set the time.

But I digress – the new microwave came with several buttons that seem to have meaning to the machine but are confusing to me. For example – there is a “breakfast” button. Now I know what breakfast means, it is a meal that I eat – usually in the morning but what does “breakfast” mean to the microwave? Suppose it is noon, do I push the “lunch” button if I am having a frozen waffle or do I push the “breakfast” button. What about Bagel’s? Is a Bagel a breakfast button or a lunch button? What happens if I push the wrong button? Will the machine not work or perhaps flash some weird message like “Chaos reigns within. Reflect, repent, restart and order shall return”. Or perhaps “Three things are certain Death, Taxes, and Failure to push the right button. Guess which has occurred.”

So there it is – the age of the intelligent machine has arrived. We are surrounded by robots and have been for some time. After all they turn on my lights, open my garage door, turn on the coffee pot, turn things off but gradually they are gaining the upper hand. They now decide WHEN things should be turned off – even if I don’t want them turned off and now we have a machine that requires interaction before operation. There is no longer any doubt in my mind – I am definitely past my expiration date.