As more and more people move into the world of retirement, some voluntarily and others through the forces of the marketplace, I believe a need will arise for a guide instructing them in the wise use of all their newly found spare time. So I’m hereby staking a claim to the idea for the book length version of this brief article which has been forming like a pus filled pimple on my brain. I’m thinking “THE IDIOT’S GUIDE TO TIME MANAGEMENT IN RETIREMENT” is a good working title. The book will expand upon, with a great deal of high toned language, the following basic principles.
GET UP EVERY DAY. It’s true that retirement could become a state of total confinement to a nice comfy bed. But in a few months you’d be one of those enormously obese people who need to be hauled to their doctor’s appointments by a fork-lift after the wall of the bedroom has been removed. Getting up can help you avoid that embarrassing and unsightly condition.
EAT REGULAR AND MODERATE MEALS. Newly retired folks may find themselves moved to improve their expertise in the preparation of foods. They may suddenly think that cooking up the perfect Crème Brule or a nice Shepherd’s Pie is a great way to occupy themselves instead of staying in bed or sitting on the couch in front of the TV. And that may be true as long as the cooking is done in moderation. One guy I know took up cooking as a hobby. But his problem was that he started at 8 AM and cooked until 5 PM. He also sampled or completely devoured about a third of his dishes. When his wife got home from her job he headed for the recliner, leaving a full day’s worth of pots, pans and dishes to clean up. He told her what was available from his day of hobby enjoyment and she could stick it in the microwave when she was ready to eat. He on the other hand was not feeling hungry at all for some reason. So if you’re going to be an amateur chef don’t try to empty the pantry and refrigerator every day in your efforts. Plan and prepare one nice meal and then share it at an appropriate time with you spouse or significant other.
SPEND FORTY FIVE MINUTES TO AN HOUR EXERCISING. This bit of advice is pretty important. The retired person can easily slip into a totally sedentary lifestyle even if he or she doesn’t stay in bed all day. The satanic lure of the TV can suck the hours out of a day like a Dyson vacuum on crack. A computer can do the same with its temptations of social networks and on line gambling games. Forcing yourself to have a regular exercise period will help fight those evils. You don’t need to be a fitness freak like Richard Simmons or that big bosomed blond girl that’s in all the ads. You just need to walk, bicycle, jog, swim or some other tolerable form of exercise at least five or six days a week. You’ll feel better and your spouse will appreciate having you alive a few extra years instead of watching you loaf around until your arteries calcify and you become a drooling vegetable after a long series of strokes and heart attacks.
GET A HOBBY. A nice hobby can occupy a retired person for a few hours a week. An obsessive hobby can occupy a retired person more than a regular job and drive everyone in the house into alcoholism. Don’t be obsessive. Hobbies can be artistic like painting, drawing or writing. They can be of the collecting type; coins, stamps, hand painted neckties, Mickey Mouse roach clips. Or a hobby can be the pursuit of some sort of craft like crocheting afghans, building bird houses or perhaps keeping a nice garden. It might even be a good idea to have more than one hobby so that boredom can be avoided or so that all the storage space in your house doesn’t become totally glutted with a solid mass of your knitting output. Moderation is always a nice thing.
EXERCISE YOUR MIND. You’ve seen those retired people who, after a couple of years, end up sitting and staring hour after hour, day after day. Sometimes there’s nothing wrong with them other than mental atrophy. They either got totally vegged out on TV or they just never exercised their minds. Their idea of reading is to check out the labels on the soup can they’re picking out for lunch. They don’t do crosswords or sudoku puzzles or anything requiring a tiny bit of thinking. It’s pitiful really to end up like a dementia patient so early in retirement. It will probably happen some day but there’s no excuse for helping it along. So read books and newspapers, play cards or do word or number puzzles. Have lively discussions with other people in a coffee club or church group. Mental exercise won’t even cause you to be out of breath. So do it.
KEEP YOUR LOVE LIFE ACTIVE. Yeah I know this is funny, especially coming from me. But I’ve heard, and some of the written research seems to suggest, that some activity in this area can use up some time. So when I write the retirement time management book I’ll look into it a little more and if all else fails I’ll make something up.
GO PLACES. Long expensive cruises aren’t necessary. Tours of the European capitals aren’t a requirement. Those might be nice but for crying out loud we’re on a fixed income here! No, I mean go to the park, walk around the mall or maybe go fishing. The idea is to get out of the house for a few hours. If you can afford a trip someplace once in a while that’s good too. Maybe you could combine one of your hobbies with a weekend excursion. If you’re a coin collector go to a coin show in a big city. If you like wine go tour some wineries, checking first to see which ones have the best free tastings. I don’t know where you’d go if you were interested in crocheting or leather working but there’s probably something. In my upcoming book I’ll offer some more specific suggestions using information I’ll glean as I pursue my hobby. My hobby is spending a few hours a day writing junk like this, which I do, fortunately, for my own enjoyment.
So have a fine day.
Friday, February 27, 2009
THE COFFEE CLUB: A Short Story
The four men were perched on the undersized seats that are favored by donut shops throughout the land. Steaming cups of coffee were cooling in front of them and a napkin spread out on the table held four donuts. Each of the men knew without asking which donut the others would reach for. They had been meeting at this donut place for almost three years, five days a week, and they were all creatures of habit. Their morning coffee club would expand and contract with the addition and subtraction of peripheral members but these four were the constant core of the group.
The men all had gray hair, some thicker than the others, and they all had other things in common. All four of them were retired, married and well aware of the world they lived in. Archie was the oldest, a spry and curmudgeonly eighty four year old. He had been retired from the railroad for nineteen years and bragged every day about how he had outsmarted the actuaries in the company’s pension fund. Bill was either seventy five or seventy eight. He had a strange fixation about not revealing his exact age. He would admit that his birthday was on the fourth of July and that his wife was only sixty five but that was it in the age department. He had worked at the auto plant up in the northern part of the state and had been retired either ten, thirteen or fifteen years depending on which age and retirement date he was admitting to on any given day. Jerome was not the youngest of the group, but he looked and acted much younger than his sixty nine years. Al, who was the youngest at sixty two, seemed tired and worn out and older even than Archie. Jerome was a retired high school teacher who did a little writing for the local newspaper. Al had retired when he was sixty after forty years of selling cars.
The daily meeting for coffee and donuts had begun when Archie broke away from a group of men and women who had been meeting at a nearby Burger King. He had developed an affection for one of the ladies in the group and his wife had gotten word through some of her friends at church that something might be going on. Archie contended that it was just an innocent friendship and didn’t even involve meeting the lady privately, although it had crossed his mind. Even though he was eighty four he couldn’t seem to control his wandering eyes and imagination. But his wife kicked up enough fuss to cause Archie to make the donut shop his new coffee place. One morning he noticed Jerome sitting nearby and he struck up a conversation. Then Bill, who had known Archie casually from the Legion post, started coming to the donut store. Archie invited him to sit at the table. About a year later Al entered the donut store and announced to everyone in the place, none of whom he knew, that he had been forced into retirement that very morning and he wanted to join a coffee club, any coffee club, so that he would have some reason to get up in morning. Jerome, being a kindly and sensitive fellow, invited Al to join them and that was the way the club had formed.
Other men (Archie insisted that women sit elsewhere so he wouldn’t have any temptations) would join the group for a while and then move on. The discussions every morning were lively. The news and weather of the day would start things off and be the stimulus for a wide range of subjects. As election seasons ebbed and flowed so did political discussion. Religious opining was allowed as long as no one started preaching or trying to convert others. One man had been excommunicated from the group after only three days because of his attempts to preach the cause of the Jehovah’s Witnesses. Personal problems were talked about in the most general of terms and usually involved opinions about women, marriage and men’s health. The opinions expressed were as different as the personalities of each of the club’s members. Arguments could be heated but they were always civil. Language was fairly refined and all the guys were respectful towards the employees and customers of the shop. The club moved through the years without any broadening of the time that the members spent with each other. They were all friends but the morning meetings were a separate and distinct part of their lives.
On a cold January morning after a few topics had been bandied about Archie noticed that Al was not contributing much to the discussion. This was particularly odd since one of the news items being talked about was the state of the auto industry and Al was always vocal when his former business was any part of the subject matter. So Archie asked Al why he had no opinion about the decline of American car makers. Al said that he had other more important things on his mind. Normally that would have stopped the inquiry and other subjects would be brought up to move the conversation away from anything too deeply personal. But for some reason Jerome felt that he needed to explore Al’s reticence further and he asked what important thing it was that had quieted the usually vociferous group member. Al said that he had been to the doctor the day before and had gotten some results for tests that were done a few days earlier. He said these were all follow up tests to a series completed about ten days ago. The results of all the tests weren’t good, he continued, and that was what was keeping him preoccupied.
Archie wasn’t happy with Jerome for opening this highly personal conversation. It was against club traditions and, besides that, it made him very uncomfortable. But Jerome went on and asked what the tests were for and what kind of results came out of them. Al said that the tests originally were to check for the cause of his persistent anemia. But when the first tests came in there were signs of some other serious blood disorder. Then the second series confirmed the first and now Al knew he had a rare form of blood cancer. The worst part of the news was that there was no cure and no treatment available. Jerome, although dismayed by what he had heard so far, went a little further and asked about bone marrow transplants or transfusions or chemotherapy. Al told him that all of those things were not effective against his particular ailment so he wasn’t going to bother even trying them. It was quiet at the table as each of the men considered the news about Al. So much personal information in so short a time had changed the way they thought about their little group. Jerome wanted to ask Al if he had gotten an estimate on how much time he had left, but he didn’t want to upset everyone any further. Archie seemed particularly disturbed and started to make a few statements but then stopped himself, unable to find the words he wanted to use. Finally he said “Well I ain’t going to your damn funeral if it’s scheduled at coffee club time.”
They all looked at Al and when he burst out with his deep and rumbling laugh they laughed with him. Bill suggested that they all make a pact to be sure that all of their funeral plans took in to account coffee time so that no conflicts would occur. They all agreed to the pact and since it was time to go, they all went their separate ways.
The next morning all of the men arrived at the usual time in their usual order. The news and weather were handled quickly. Then Al said he had some ideas about how the club should handle the demise of any of the members. He said that since it looked like he would be the first to go that he should have the greatest input on the protocols. “First of all” he said “no one should feel that he needs to attend any of the funerals of any club member. Secondly, whoever is planning on croaking next needs to find a replacement for himself and get the replacement approved before the croaker can no longer attend the meetings. And finally, there should be no morose talk or namby-pamby crap after the initial announcement was made.” Everyone thought that those were fine protocols and they were adopted with a voice vote. Then Archie raised a question about a sudden departure from this life. He asked what the procedure would be if one of them was killed in a car accident or had a massive heart attack. Bill suggested that they recruit new members from the various peripheral participants, always emphasizing to the new guys the importance of maintaining the core membership of four men. That was considered to be a good idea and all four of the guys agreed. As they broke up the meeting Jerome asked Al when he would be bringing in his replacement and Al said “Really soon.”
On the Monday of the following week Al showed up looking paler and more tired than he ever had. And, as required by the newly approved protocols, he had a new man with him. When all of the club members had put their coffee and donuts on the table Al introduced his friend Edwin. Then the daily discussions of weather and news began and the conversation branched off into several other areas. Nothing further was said about Al’s illness. At the end of the week when the original four members were leaving Al shook hands all around and said to Edwin, “Don’t let me down here. These guys are important to me.” That was the last time Al came to a meeting.
Two weeks later at the regular morning session Edwin told the other three members that Al had died and the funeral was scheduled for the following Monday afternoon. Archie said that he was tied up on Monday. Bill also said he couldn’t attend. Edwin said he had to attend because he was one of the pallbearers. And Jerome said he would be there. On the day after the funeral Jerome brought up the subject of death and funerals. Archie tried to steer the conversation away from that subject bringing up all kinds of ideas that would have normally stirred a heated debate. But Jerome in his quiet, patient way would not be deterred. He asked Archie why the subject was so hard for him to discuss. “Are you afraid of death, Archie?” Archie replied “No I’m not afraid of death or even of dying. What I’m bothered by are all the damn events leading up to it. That and the stupid idea of having to talk it all over a thousand damn times are what irritate the heck out of me.” He went on to tell the little group that dying was usually a messy business. There were hospitals and people stretched out hooked up to tubes and machines. There were all kinds of do-gooders trying to make everything seem natural and peaceful. Meanwhile every time one of the machines went haywire all the doctors and nurses would rush in and do all kinds of stuff to keep the poor patient alive even though they knew it was all over. Archie got a little quieter when he said “If dying was just a matter of getting into bed and closing my eyes I’d volunteer today or maybe in a couple of weeks. But it doesn’t work that way most of the time.”
Edwin said that it was a nice funeral anyway. Jerome agreed. Then Bill, who had been pretty quiet during all these exchanges, said that all this talk was against the protocols of the club which Al had proposed and to which everyone had agreed. Then he mentioned that the weather guys were calling for a big storm later in the week and asked if anyone thought the highway crews were prepared. A lively discussion followed the question.
Have a fine day.
The men all had gray hair, some thicker than the others, and they all had other things in common. All four of them were retired, married and well aware of the world they lived in. Archie was the oldest, a spry and curmudgeonly eighty four year old. He had been retired from the railroad for nineteen years and bragged every day about how he had outsmarted the actuaries in the company’s pension fund. Bill was either seventy five or seventy eight. He had a strange fixation about not revealing his exact age. He would admit that his birthday was on the fourth of July and that his wife was only sixty five but that was it in the age department. He had worked at the auto plant up in the northern part of the state and had been retired either ten, thirteen or fifteen years depending on which age and retirement date he was admitting to on any given day. Jerome was not the youngest of the group, but he looked and acted much younger than his sixty nine years. Al, who was the youngest at sixty two, seemed tired and worn out and older even than Archie. Jerome was a retired high school teacher who did a little writing for the local newspaper. Al had retired when he was sixty after forty years of selling cars.
The daily meeting for coffee and donuts had begun when Archie broke away from a group of men and women who had been meeting at a nearby Burger King. He had developed an affection for one of the ladies in the group and his wife had gotten word through some of her friends at church that something might be going on. Archie contended that it was just an innocent friendship and didn’t even involve meeting the lady privately, although it had crossed his mind. Even though he was eighty four he couldn’t seem to control his wandering eyes and imagination. But his wife kicked up enough fuss to cause Archie to make the donut shop his new coffee place. One morning he noticed Jerome sitting nearby and he struck up a conversation. Then Bill, who had known Archie casually from the Legion post, started coming to the donut store. Archie invited him to sit at the table. About a year later Al entered the donut store and announced to everyone in the place, none of whom he knew, that he had been forced into retirement that very morning and he wanted to join a coffee club, any coffee club, so that he would have some reason to get up in morning. Jerome, being a kindly and sensitive fellow, invited Al to join them and that was the way the club had formed.
Other men (Archie insisted that women sit elsewhere so he wouldn’t have any temptations) would join the group for a while and then move on. The discussions every morning were lively. The news and weather of the day would start things off and be the stimulus for a wide range of subjects. As election seasons ebbed and flowed so did political discussion. Religious opining was allowed as long as no one started preaching or trying to convert others. One man had been excommunicated from the group after only three days because of his attempts to preach the cause of the Jehovah’s Witnesses. Personal problems were talked about in the most general of terms and usually involved opinions about women, marriage and men’s health. The opinions expressed were as different as the personalities of each of the club’s members. Arguments could be heated but they were always civil. Language was fairly refined and all the guys were respectful towards the employees and customers of the shop. The club moved through the years without any broadening of the time that the members spent with each other. They were all friends but the morning meetings were a separate and distinct part of their lives.
On a cold January morning after a few topics had been bandied about Archie noticed that Al was not contributing much to the discussion. This was particularly odd since one of the news items being talked about was the state of the auto industry and Al was always vocal when his former business was any part of the subject matter. So Archie asked Al why he had no opinion about the decline of American car makers. Al said that he had other more important things on his mind. Normally that would have stopped the inquiry and other subjects would be brought up to move the conversation away from anything too deeply personal. But for some reason Jerome felt that he needed to explore Al’s reticence further and he asked what important thing it was that had quieted the usually vociferous group member. Al said that he had been to the doctor the day before and had gotten some results for tests that were done a few days earlier. He said these were all follow up tests to a series completed about ten days ago. The results of all the tests weren’t good, he continued, and that was what was keeping him preoccupied.
Archie wasn’t happy with Jerome for opening this highly personal conversation. It was against club traditions and, besides that, it made him very uncomfortable. But Jerome went on and asked what the tests were for and what kind of results came out of them. Al said that the tests originally were to check for the cause of his persistent anemia. But when the first tests came in there were signs of some other serious blood disorder. Then the second series confirmed the first and now Al knew he had a rare form of blood cancer. The worst part of the news was that there was no cure and no treatment available. Jerome, although dismayed by what he had heard so far, went a little further and asked about bone marrow transplants or transfusions or chemotherapy. Al told him that all of those things were not effective against his particular ailment so he wasn’t going to bother even trying them. It was quiet at the table as each of the men considered the news about Al. So much personal information in so short a time had changed the way they thought about their little group. Jerome wanted to ask Al if he had gotten an estimate on how much time he had left, but he didn’t want to upset everyone any further. Archie seemed particularly disturbed and started to make a few statements but then stopped himself, unable to find the words he wanted to use. Finally he said “Well I ain’t going to your damn funeral if it’s scheduled at coffee club time.”
They all looked at Al and when he burst out with his deep and rumbling laugh they laughed with him. Bill suggested that they all make a pact to be sure that all of their funeral plans took in to account coffee time so that no conflicts would occur. They all agreed to the pact and since it was time to go, they all went their separate ways.
The next morning all of the men arrived at the usual time in their usual order. The news and weather were handled quickly. Then Al said he had some ideas about how the club should handle the demise of any of the members. He said that since it looked like he would be the first to go that he should have the greatest input on the protocols. “First of all” he said “no one should feel that he needs to attend any of the funerals of any club member. Secondly, whoever is planning on croaking next needs to find a replacement for himself and get the replacement approved before the croaker can no longer attend the meetings. And finally, there should be no morose talk or namby-pamby crap after the initial announcement was made.” Everyone thought that those were fine protocols and they were adopted with a voice vote. Then Archie raised a question about a sudden departure from this life. He asked what the procedure would be if one of them was killed in a car accident or had a massive heart attack. Bill suggested that they recruit new members from the various peripheral participants, always emphasizing to the new guys the importance of maintaining the core membership of four men. That was considered to be a good idea and all four of the guys agreed. As they broke up the meeting Jerome asked Al when he would be bringing in his replacement and Al said “Really soon.”
On the Monday of the following week Al showed up looking paler and more tired than he ever had. And, as required by the newly approved protocols, he had a new man with him. When all of the club members had put their coffee and donuts on the table Al introduced his friend Edwin. Then the daily discussions of weather and news began and the conversation branched off into several other areas. Nothing further was said about Al’s illness. At the end of the week when the original four members were leaving Al shook hands all around and said to Edwin, “Don’t let me down here. These guys are important to me.” That was the last time Al came to a meeting.
Two weeks later at the regular morning session Edwin told the other three members that Al had died and the funeral was scheduled for the following Monday afternoon. Archie said that he was tied up on Monday. Bill also said he couldn’t attend. Edwin said he had to attend because he was one of the pallbearers. And Jerome said he would be there. On the day after the funeral Jerome brought up the subject of death and funerals. Archie tried to steer the conversation away from that subject bringing up all kinds of ideas that would have normally stirred a heated debate. But Jerome in his quiet, patient way would not be deterred. He asked Archie why the subject was so hard for him to discuss. “Are you afraid of death, Archie?” Archie replied “No I’m not afraid of death or even of dying. What I’m bothered by are all the damn events leading up to it. That and the stupid idea of having to talk it all over a thousand damn times are what irritate the heck out of me.” He went on to tell the little group that dying was usually a messy business. There were hospitals and people stretched out hooked up to tubes and machines. There were all kinds of do-gooders trying to make everything seem natural and peaceful. Meanwhile every time one of the machines went haywire all the doctors and nurses would rush in and do all kinds of stuff to keep the poor patient alive even though they knew it was all over. Archie got a little quieter when he said “If dying was just a matter of getting into bed and closing my eyes I’d volunteer today or maybe in a couple of weeks. But it doesn’t work that way most of the time.”
Edwin said that it was a nice funeral anyway. Jerome agreed. Then Bill, who had been pretty quiet during all these exchanges, said that all this talk was against the protocols of the club which Al had proposed and to which everyone had agreed. Then he mentioned that the weather guys were calling for a big storm later in the week and asked if anyone thought the highway crews were prepared. A lively discussion followed the question.
Have a fine day.
Monday, February 23, 2009
WOODSTOVES AND LABOR
When we bought our little house on the river in the cold reaches of northern New York we thought the woodstove sitting in the corner of the living room was a real value added feature. The previous owner talked about how the stove would warm the whole house and the propane furnace would remain mostly idle, saving hundreds of dollars in expensive fuel. He talked about easily cutting up the fallen trees from the more than two acres of woodlot and whiling away pleasant hours splitting and stacking the cut up pieces into a formidable wood pile. It sounded so romantic and appealing. But it isn’t.
During the few weeks that we stayed in the house during our first winter of ownership it seemed like the guy was right. Since we hadn’t enough time to do the cutting and splitting from our home grown supply we bought a few cords from a local guy and all we had to do was stack it up. Then every couple days we would pull some of the wood off our pile and haul it to the rack next to the stove. And that propane furnace didn’t run at all. The house was warm and cozy, as advertised.
Then last spring, before the dishwasher flood of July, my brother and I cut up some wood in the lot and hauled it over to the back yard near the shed. In a previous article I related the adventures of inexperienced and un-skilled Paul Bunyan’s and the challenges they met doing such a simple and easy task. We ended up getting about one cord put up in the pile. In the fall we worked again cutting up and splitting wood. Grueling hours of arduous labor resulted in another cord or so. Unfortunately this cord needed to “season” as they say. So I called the local supplier and had a couple cords of seasoned wood delivered. Then we had to re-stack the woodpile so that the seasoned wood would be available for first use when the weather got cold. That was a mighty and laborious chore, but it got finished. It was a decent woodpile and we looked forward to getting up to the little house when the snow was flying.
After Thanksgiving my wife and I spent a few days in the house. We had wood fires going every night and since the weather wasn’t too cold we didn’t use too much wood keeping the place warm. Our second trip up was just after Christmas. The weather was very cold and windy with a fair amount of snow. We used most of the contents of our inside wood rack every two days. Since I was recovering from a shoulder injury my dear wife helped haul wood into the house, so the labor didn’t seem too bad. But the house, again, was warm and toasty and the propane stayed in the tank.
When we arrived for our week’s stay beginning on Valentine’s Day I assessed the state of the woodpile and was somewhat dismayed. We were already moving into the wood that was cut and stacked by my brother and me. It was pretty well seasoned but it was also not covered by a tarp. It was, however, covered by a thick layer of crusty snow. So my wife and I went to work in the brisk coldness of a North Country February removing the snow and stacking the woodpile where it could be covered by the tarp alongside the shed.
We hauled in a bunch of wood to replace what we had used on our first couple of days of vacation. The weather was wicked cold and windy. Wood needed to be burned at a pretty good rate to keep the house warm. On the fourth day we hauled in a bunch more wood to fill the rack. My shoulder started bothering me again. My wife accused me of using it as an excuse, calling me a slacker of the worst kind. On the sixth day we again hauled in wood, this time bringing in enough to last for the remainder of our stay. The woodpile was sadly depleted now and the pieces remaining were those that were not properly sized or that had other types of deformities or aberrations. On the day before our departure we restacked the pile and trimmed up some pieces which we used to fill the rack one last time. At least if we go up one more time before the winter ends, sometime in late April, we’ll have enough wood for one or two nights. A problem might arise if my brother and his wife use the place as they’ve planned to do sometime in March. But I’ve got a solution to that problem. The day they arrive I’ll call my local firewood guy and have him deliver three or four cords. Then I’ll shame my brother and his wife into stacking it all neatly, citing their comparative youth and strength and my age and obvious infirmity. Maybe I’ll make it five or six cords. Then in the summer I can get some of my cousins to help cut up some of the fallen trees and split them into another four or five cords. This wood burning is turning out to involve a lot of difficult work and diplomacy.
But it will be worth it next winter. If the price of propane would drop things would be even better.
Have a fine day.
During the few weeks that we stayed in the house during our first winter of ownership it seemed like the guy was right. Since we hadn’t enough time to do the cutting and splitting from our home grown supply we bought a few cords from a local guy and all we had to do was stack it up. Then every couple days we would pull some of the wood off our pile and haul it to the rack next to the stove. And that propane furnace didn’t run at all. The house was warm and cozy, as advertised.
Then last spring, before the dishwasher flood of July, my brother and I cut up some wood in the lot and hauled it over to the back yard near the shed. In a previous article I related the adventures of inexperienced and un-skilled Paul Bunyan’s and the challenges they met doing such a simple and easy task. We ended up getting about one cord put up in the pile. In the fall we worked again cutting up and splitting wood. Grueling hours of arduous labor resulted in another cord or so. Unfortunately this cord needed to “season” as they say. So I called the local supplier and had a couple cords of seasoned wood delivered. Then we had to re-stack the woodpile so that the seasoned wood would be available for first use when the weather got cold. That was a mighty and laborious chore, but it got finished. It was a decent woodpile and we looked forward to getting up to the little house when the snow was flying.
After Thanksgiving my wife and I spent a few days in the house. We had wood fires going every night and since the weather wasn’t too cold we didn’t use too much wood keeping the place warm. Our second trip up was just after Christmas. The weather was very cold and windy with a fair amount of snow. We used most of the contents of our inside wood rack every two days. Since I was recovering from a shoulder injury my dear wife helped haul wood into the house, so the labor didn’t seem too bad. But the house, again, was warm and toasty and the propane stayed in the tank.
When we arrived for our week’s stay beginning on Valentine’s Day I assessed the state of the woodpile and was somewhat dismayed. We were already moving into the wood that was cut and stacked by my brother and me. It was pretty well seasoned but it was also not covered by a tarp. It was, however, covered by a thick layer of crusty snow. So my wife and I went to work in the brisk coldness of a North Country February removing the snow and stacking the woodpile where it could be covered by the tarp alongside the shed.
We hauled in a bunch of wood to replace what we had used on our first couple of days of vacation. The weather was wicked cold and windy. Wood needed to be burned at a pretty good rate to keep the house warm. On the fourth day we hauled in a bunch more wood to fill the rack. My shoulder started bothering me again. My wife accused me of using it as an excuse, calling me a slacker of the worst kind. On the sixth day we again hauled in wood, this time bringing in enough to last for the remainder of our stay. The woodpile was sadly depleted now and the pieces remaining were those that were not properly sized or that had other types of deformities or aberrations. On the day before our departure we restacked the pile and trimmed up some pieces which we used to fill the rack one last time. At least if we go up one more time before the winter ends, sometime in late April, we’ll have enough wood for one or two nights. A problem might arise if my brother and his wife use the place as they’ve planned to do sometime in March. But I’ve got a solution to that problem. The day they arrive I’ll call my local firewood guy and have him deliver three or four cords. Then I’ll shame my brother and his wife into stacking it all neatly, citing their comparative youth and strength and my age and obvious infirmity. Maybe I’ll make it five or six cords. Then in the summer I can get some of my cousins to help cut up some of the fallen trees and split them into another four or five cords. This wood burning is turning out to involve a lot of difficult work and diplomacy.
But it will be worth it next winter. If the price of propane would drop things would be even better.
Have a fine day.
WOODS AND SNOWY ROADS: a poem
A hard edged winter blue sky
Hammered into an overhead dome
Over snow covered woods
Over woods covered hills.
The summer roads now snowy
Packed for a short distance by
Multiple tracks of machines
Who took their noise and left
Behind a silent walking path.
We walk these un-cleared summer
Roads, a playground for those
Noisome machines, now gone.
We walk and look at other
Tracks and signs that point out
Paths into the trees and brush.
This blanketed woodland is a home
And haven for creatures who have
No use for our machinery.
They follow their own trails
To food and crude shelter,
To water and a place away from us.
We marvel at their numbers.
We look for their logic but
Finding none we wonder at
Their strength, their advantages
In this harsh home.
Our eyes pinch partially shut
At the sun’s bright crystal light
Thrown back from the icy whiteness.
There is no melting yet, the air
Frozen in a motionless chill.
Distant bird calls, murmuring ice
Covered stream, crunching footfalls
Are the background music for
Our afternoon exploration, our
Fortunate foray into this
Temporary wilderness.
Too soon the sub-zero cold drives
Us off the snowy roads, out of
The woodland hills to our home.
Our shelter is warm and fine but
That outside winter place with its
Blue domed ceiling and pure white
Snowy carpet holds the beauty of my
Lover’s heart.
HAVE A FINE DAY
Hammered into an overhead dome
Over snow covered woods
Over woods covered hills.
The summer roads now snowy
Packed for a short distance by
Multiple tracks of machines
Who took their noise and left
Behind a silent walking path.
We walk these un-cleared summer
Roads, a playground for those
Noisome machines, now gone.
We walk and look at other
Tracks and signs that point out
Paths into the trees and brush.
This blanketed woodland is a home
And haven for creatures who have
No use for our machinery.
They follow their own trails
To food and crude shelter,
To water and a place away from us.
We marvel at their numbers.
We look for their logic but
Finding none we wonder at
Their strength, their advantages
In this harsh home.
Our eyes pinch partially shut
At the sun’s bright crystal light
Thrown back from the icy whiteness.
There is no melting yet, the air
Frozen in a motionless chill.
Distant bird calls, murmuring ice
Covered stream, crunching footfalls
Are the background music for
Our afternoon exploration, our
Fortunate foray into this
Temporary wilderness.
Too soon the sub-zero cold drives
Us off the snowy roads, out of
The woodland hills to our home.
Our shelter is warm and fine but
That outside winter place with its
Blue domed ceiling and pure white
Snowy carpet holds the beauty of my
Lover’s heart.
HAVE A FINE DAY
Thursday, February 12, 2009
TRAVEL
“I’m a travelin’ man, made a lot of stops, all over the world…”
Ricky Nelson
I love to travel. Give me a ticket on an aero plane; I don’t mind if it’s a fast train, I’ll travel in any way and for any reason. Trains and boat and planes are all okay with me.
Isn’t it amazing how many phrases about traveling are in popular songs? But that just showS that traveling appeals to songwriters as much as it does to regular folks. Not that songwriters aren’t regular folks, but the ones I’ve known have been somewhat outside clinical normalcy. But I digress.
We’ll be piling our crap in the car and heading out on a five hundred mile drive soon. I love where we’re going but, in truth, I love the going part also. It’s always been that way for me. The journey is as interesting and enjoyable as the destination. When I was a young boy I really enjoyed the annual vacation drive to visit the relatives in northern New York. I would get the road map out and check off the little towns as we passed through, noticing all the changes in the landmarks and landscape as we moved along. The expressways weren’t done back then. The interstate system was started but I-81 was still being planned. So our trip followed US104 along Lake Ontario and then on to some smaller county roads until we hooked up with US11 to head North. Even today I can picture the sequence of towns as we made the 250 mile seven hour trip. That same trip can be made in five hours now thanks to highway improvements and additions. But there was a special pleasure when we would stop in the village of Hannibal to buy cokes at the little grocery store to go with the picnic lunch my Mom had packed. On one winter trip we were caught in a night time blizzard near Fulton and had to take refuge in a warm and comforting diner. We drank hot chocolate and ate hot dogs as we waited for the storm to subside. Then my Dad followed a snow plow for quite a distance until we got out of the “lake effect” storm. A lot of the time my brothers, sister and Mom would be sound asleep as we motored along, and my Dad and I would pass the time talking about the route and places we passed. He knew some of the history of the roads and the areas we went through. He told how US11 followed the old trail set up by the Native Americans and French trappers. The trails went from the St. Lawrence River all the way to the Mississippi delta and New Orleans. He talked about the old military turnpikes that crossed the North Country where troops and equipment moved during the Revolutionary, 1812 and Civil wars. Maybe that’s why my interest in and affection for travel is so great.
When we travel now to our place up North I look for variations in the route and stopping places. If our schedule isn’t too rushed we’ll take some time to explore historic sites or towns. Last summer we made a stop at the Erie Canal museum in Syracuse which is a fascinating place. We also like to head off to local wineries for a tasting and to help restock our wine cooler. Since most of our traveling these days is by car we don’t venture too far from the Mid-Atlantic and New England states. Perhaps when my wife retires we’ll head South and West to explore more closely a lot more of the country.
I’ve written in the past about trips we’ve made by air to Las Vegas and Mississippi. We’ve also spent some time in England and California. In a future article I’ll tell you about some trips I made by bus and hitch-hiking when I was a kid in the Air Force. But a memorable trip I made by train might deserve a mention here.
Back in 1966 when I was in the service I decided to visit my brother who was also in the Air Force. I was stationed in Orlando and he was in tech school near Champaign, Illinois. So I bought a train ticket from Florida to Chicago, packed a bag and headed out. The train left Sanford, went up to Jacksonville, crossed over to Alabama and up through Birmingham. Then it went to Memphis and headed on North. Somewhere between Birmingham and Memphis I met some Marines who were fine fellows and they happened to be carrying a liberal supply of adult beverages which they were happy to share. We had a pleasant time engaged in conversation and then someone suggested a game of poker. So for a few hundred miles we had a relatively low stakes game. Since I didn’t have very much money low stakes were all I could handle. But even playing for nickels and dimes proved to be a problem and within a few hours of well lubricated card playing I was dead broke and almost as drunk. When I woke up at the big train station in Chicago I started to panic. I had no money and, as I recall, credit cards and ATM machines weren’t invented yet. I still needed to buy a bus ticket to Champaign and I also needed to find a way to the bus station. As I began to sweat and fret I noticed some paper stuck into the pocket of my uniform shirt. When I pulled the piece of notepaper out I found three ten dollar bills (a pretty good sum back then) and, written on the paper, two words “Semper Fi”. So I was able to take a cab to the bus and the bus to see my brother and I still had a little left over for food and hangover remedies. So since that trip I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for the US Marine Corps. And it is just one more example of how I came to love traveling.
Have a fine day.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
FACEBOOK - MYSPACE: AN OBSERVATION
As an old retired guy I have the opportunity and time to ponder the difficult questions of the modern age; questions like “Is the War against terror winnable?” “Can the so called stimulus package help the economy?” “How can I help in the fight against global warming?” and the most perplexing question of all, “Which is better Facebook or MySpace?”
Since I’m still on hiatus from political observations I will thoughtfully consider the final question in that little list. Almost every day I use both of those on-line free services and find interesting and advantageous features on each. It is also true that both sites have silly, annoying and inane traits that have a wide range of irritability. So let’s look at these modern marvels and compare.
MySpace was the first site of the genre that I joined. A lot of my family members were on and it seemed like a neat and trendy thing to do. There are ways to search for new and old friends. There are several ways to pass messages back and forth to the friends you find. There is a pretty easy to use place to post blogs. Putting pictures up on your site is also a simple task. And the “bulletin board” feature can sometimes be useful. So it was cool and I started using some of the features. Since I have this fantasy that I can write a little I found the blog posting area one of the best parts of MySpace. Through the use of that feature I built a small but loyal group of readers which is satisfying in both an artistic and egotistical sense. The friend finding features are also good and I met or reconnected with quite a few people. Some of the relatives I contacted have gotten to be excellent friends as well as cousins and such. A few high school acquaintances have also become regular correspondents through the site. One other feature of the blogging area is the availability of reading material in the “Top Blog” section. So those are the principal advantages of MySpace.
On the down side MySpace can be awfully annoying in many ways. The log-in page with all the celebrity driven advertising junk is particularly bothersome. I realize that the advertising sales helps to keep the site free but the ads, aimed at the average twelve year old kid, all look the same after a while. And if you have a slow dial-up connection on your computer, like maybe .002 percent of us, then those ads delay getting to the actual useful pages. Also the pop-up ads on other pages are intrusive and cause my computer to lag behind the rest of the world. MySpace also has a lot of things you can add to your site to “pimp” it up as they say. Somehow, probably because I’m old, that phrase is somewhat insulting. It uses a pejorative word, pimp, to describe embellishing a profile page. I suppose it means to imply that pimps are flashy dressing characters and adding flashy things to a page imitates that type of behavior. But it’s kind of like all the “gangsta” stuff in hip-hop and rap music that people like to imitate, which basically glorifies bad people by adopting their style of dress and attitude. The fact that it all looks pretty ridiculous is beside the point. Anyway, I haven’t “pimped up” my page just because that’s what they call it.
The MySpace bulletin board can be useful but is most often a place where politically motivated or religiously motivated folks spread their various messages. It also is a place where people pass on interminable and usually silly surveys. So I tend to ignore the bulletin section most of the time.
A large number of the people that I know on MySpace have migrated over to Facebook or else they are using both pages as I do. Facebook has actually been around longer than MySpace. It was started by some college people at Harvard and was used primarily by that age group for some time. Recently it has picked up millions of members and is the largest site of its type on the internet. Why would all of those people leave MySpace and start using Facebook?
Facebook has a less advertising laden look to most of its pages. The information on what your friends want you to know about them starts up quickly. It’s true that a lot of that stuff is repetitious but that’s sort of like conversations with a people you know. The messaging place is easy to use and private if one needs privacy. If you want the whole world to know what you’re discussing with your friends you can use the “wall-to-wall” feature. There are a whole bunch of applications available on the site but they’re easy to ignore. If you don’t want to send virtual gifts, take part in silly surveys or become a fan of this or that store or entertainer then you don’t. But if you like to categorize everything and everyone you can have all kinds of sub-groups and personalized lists of people. I play Scrabble with my youngest daughter on the site continually, even though she beats the heck out of me all the time. There are other on-line games available through Facebook as well.
Probably the best thing about Facebook is the ease of finding people that you know using the “friend finder” feature. And the fact that over 150 million people use the site gives you a fair chance of finding someone you know. I have actually become reacquainted with quite a few people from my high school days. When I was in high school I wasn’t particularly social and I certainly didn’t belong to any cliques but now it’s sort of nice to have these good people on my friends list. After 45 years I finally am in a clique, the people on Facebook clique, rarified company for sure.
The annoying things about Facebook aren’t too numerous. The repetition I already mentioned. (Subtle humor attempt) The silly applications can be tiresome, although I use some of them. And the lack of a good blogging space is a definite downside. The “notes” page can be used as a blogging site but it doesn’t lend itself to easy reading nor does it have an article type layout. Links to other blog-spots can be added to one’s profile page but that is not as good as the MySpace system.
So that’s a comparison of MySpace and Facebook. The amazing thing is that thirty years ago this type of communication device was not even imagined. We went from hand written letters to email to chat rooms to communication and entertainment sites like these in the blink of an eye it seems. Cell phones have access to these sites as well, opening another avenue for inter-personal communication. If people truly want to create a global community the tools are at hand. I’ve seen folks from Europe, Asia, Canada, Australia and other places using these sites. But I’ll bet I’m like most people when I admit that I haven’t tried to add any of those folks to my friends list. It would be easy and most likely quite interesting to start corresponding with people from other countries. I’ll leave that to a younger generation which is more comfortable with all these technological innovations.
Meanwhile I’ll use both sites to stay in touch with family and friends, share my musings and have a little entertainment, if you call being humiliated in a game of Scrabble entertaining.
Have a fine day.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
NON-POLITICAL WHINING February 5, 2009
Two of my most valued readers have complained that I spend too much time writing about politics. They claim that when I write that stuff I’m even more boring than when I write about other nonsense. In fact they say that the level of high quality humor that is missing in most of my work is completely absent in my political discourse. It’s hard to find fans that can be so truthful and constructively critical, but I have them.
I had planned on writing a diatribe against the IRS and the US tax system. It would have been full of witty and sarcastic remarks, heavy with metaphor and laced with irony. But since that subject borders on the political I’ll stay away from it for now. But that leaves a dilemma. My whole being is demanding that I write something but with the IRS out of the picture what topic will satisfy the muse? Maybe this would be the time to churn out the first few chapters of my great American novel. The story has been lurking around in my mind for some time now. It’ll be about two boys who take a raft trip on a big river. Their names are Timmy and Howard and they live somewhere in the Midwest. I’ve got a lot of details to work out about other characters like Timmy’s girlfriend Betty and Howard’s mentor a Chinese guy named Joe. So maybe it’s too early to start on the novel.
If my poetry had been better received I might have dashed off a few lines of doggerel reflecting the innermost workings of my psyche. But that subject is definitely not bright and humorous. That would be more like a toboggan ride down a mountainside covered in a forest of metal spikes pointing uphill. So the poetry will wait as well.
Pittsburgh won the Super Bowl this past Sunday. About six million people have written about that event. Three million were happy and the other three million were really angry.
I was more or less indifferent to the whole thing and even managed to avoid most of the commercials and the aging rock star half time show. It cracks me up that Mr. Springsteen is now saying that his big deal with Wal-Mart was a mistake. Personally I think it was Wal-Mart’s mistake. That guy is trying to milk another couple of years out of his already slim talent and he needs all the Wal-Mart deals he can get. Most of his songs are adolescent and vapid. His best move was putting together a really great band that has carried him through a lot of shows and recordings. Of course his Liberal credentials can be called into question now because he signed with Wal-Mart, the epitome of evil Corporate America. But like so many of those guys, when it comes to making money and self promotion they’ll hop in bed with any devil that has a few promises to deliver.
Oh man, that political stuff about the Boss slipped out when I wasn’t being vigilant. At least when that Jackson girl singer and the gay guy were on the Super Bowl stage a few years back nobody was too worried about her politics. And even ancient Mick Jagger and nearly as ancient Paul McCartney only did the peace and love message at the ends of their shows. Peace and love is kind of ironic in a setting where two teams of armored warriors are doing their level best to wound and maim each other as they attempt to propel or carry a missile into the end zone. But that’s show biz.
Speaking of show biz, I was trying to select some new movies for my Netflix list and the pickings are really pretty slim. It seems like there are a lot of new movies out there that I’ve already seen. I don’t mean that I’ve seen a particular movie but I’ve seen the exact same stories done over and over again. The romantic comedies, cop movies, action adventure and horror films have been distilled down to about ten scripts that have a few slight variations thrown in to make them seem somewhat new. It’s gotten so bad that my wife and I even watched that Abba movie “Mamma Mia” last week. She liked it. I can tolerate the music but almost two hours of it was a little tough. And I must be getting old because I thought Merle Streep looked really hot in that picture.
Here’s one other nod to the movie business. I watched a really good documentary about the great guitar player and inventor Les Paul. It was called “Les Paul: Chasing Sound” and even people who aren’t fans of his can appreciate his story. But one of the most amazing aspects of the film is how Mr. Paul, now in his nineties, still plays at a night club almost every week, and how he still sounds pretty darn good. It was a fun movie to watch and it doesn’t fit the “Boring Documentary” category award that the Oscar people give out each year.
Next week the wife and I will be heading to the land of snow and ice again. We’ll go up after she finishes her work week and stay for about seven days. That’ll give us plenty of time to reaffirm our appreciation for the mild winters of Delaware. We always enjoy those visits but digging out the driveway every morning does take its toll on an old guy. Yes it’s tough directing the snow removal operation that my wife has to do. Sometimes I actually have to go outdoors and talk to her about her technique. It’s a good thing I got her that electric start snow blower for Valentine’s Day.
Have a fine day.
Two of my most valued readers have complained that I spend too much time writing about politics. They claim that when I write that stuff I’m even more boring than when I write about other nonsense. In fact they say that the level of high quality humor that is missing in most of my work is completely absent in my political discourse. It’s hard to find fans that can be so truthful and constructively critical, but I have them.
I had planned on writing a diatribe against the IRS and the US tax system. It would have been full of witty and sarcastic remarks, heavy with metaphor and laced with irony. But since that subject borders on the political I’ll stay away from it for now. But that leaves a dilemma. My whole being is demanding that I write something but with the IRS out of the picture what topic will satisfy the muse? Maybe this would be the time to churn out the first few chapters of my great American novel. The story has been lurking around in my mind for some time now. It’ll be about two boys who take a raft trip on a big river. Their names are Timmy and Howard and they live somewhere in the Midwest. I’ve got a lot of details to work out about other characters like Timmy’s girlfriend Betty and Howard’s mentor a Chinese guy named Joe. So maybe it’s too early to start on the novel.
If my poetry had been better received I might have dashed off a few lines of doggerel reflecting the innermost workings of my psyche. But that subject is definitely not bright and humorous. That would be more like a toboggan ride down a mountainside covered in a forest of metal spikes pointing uphill. So the poetry will wait as well.
Pittsburgh won the Super Bowl this past Sunday. About six million people have written about that event. Three million were happy and the other three million were really angry.
I was more or less indifferent to the whole thing and even managed to avoid most of the commercials and the aging rock star half time show. It cracks me up that Mr. Springsteen is now saying that his big deal with Wal-Mart was a mistake. Personally I think it was Wal-Mart’s mistake. That guy is trying to milk another couple of years out of his already slim talent and he needs all the Wal-Mart deals he can get. Most of his songs are adolescent and vapid. His best move was putting together a really great band that has carried him through a lot of shows and recordings. Of course his Liberal credentials can be called into question now because he signed with Wal-Mart, the epitome of evil Corporate America. But like so many of those guys, when it comes to making money and self promotion they’ll hop in bed with any devil that has a few promises to deliver.
Oh man, that political stuff about the Boss slipped out when I wasn’t being vigilant. At least when that Jackson girl singer and the gay guy were on the Super Bowl stage a few years back nobody was too worried about her politics. And even ancient Mick Jagger and nearly as ancient Paul McCartney only did the peace and love message at the ends of their shows. Peace and love is kind of ironic in a setting where two teams of armored warriors are doing their level best to wound and maim each other as they attempt to propel or carry a missile into the end zone. But that’s show biz.
Speaking of show biz, I was trying to select some new movies for my Netflix list and the pickings are really pretty slim. It seems like there are a lot of new movies out there that I’ve already seen. I don’t mean that I’ve seen a particular movie but I’ve seen the exact same stories done over and over again. The romantic comedies, cop movies, action adventure and horror films have been distilled down to about ten scripts that have a few slight variations thrown in to make them seem somewhat new. It’s gotten so bad that my wife and I even watched that Abba movie “Mamma Mia” last week. She liked it. I can tolerate the music but almost two hours of it was a little tough. And I must be getting old because I thought Merle Streep looked really hot in that picture.
Here’s one other nod to the movie business. I watched a really good documentary about the great guitar player and inventor Les Paul. It was called “Les Paul: Chasing Sound” and even people who aren’t fans of his can appreciate his story. But one of the most amazing aspects of the film is how Mr. Paul, now in his nineties, still plays at a night club almost every week, and how he still sounds pretty darn good. It was a fun movie to watch and it doesn’t fit the “Boring Documentary” category award that the Oscar people give out each year.
Next week the wife and I will be heading to the land of snow and ice again. We’ll go up after she finishes her work week and stay for about seven days. That’ll give us plenty of time to reaffirm our appreciation for the mild winters of Delaware. We always enjoy those visits but digging out the driveway every morning does take its toll on an old guy. Yes it’s tough directing the snow removal operation that my wife has to do. Sometimes I actually have to go outdoors and talk to her about her technique. It’s a good thing I got her that electric start snow blower for Valentine’s Day.
Have a fine day.
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