Cinnabon Craze

Awhile ago I wrote a post on the kale frenzy. Now I’m reporting on the Cinnabon craze. You know, that sweet confection that lures you into the shop on the concourse when you’re headed to your plane. I can’t resist Cinnabons, even though they pack on more calories than I burn off en route to my flight. This despite the fact that my gate is always at the far end of the walkway.

I can’t explain the allure of the Cinnabon. Maybe it’s the swirly intermingling of cinnamon and icing, or that soft, yeasty mouthful you get. Since I haven’t been flying much now that I’m retired, I had almost forgotten about my guilty pleasure. That was, until I read in Ad Age about products entering into licensing arrangements with the makers of this jewel. Apparently, lip balm and the Cinnapretzel movie-theater snack didn’t do well, but Air Wick and Pinnacle vodka still have projects in the oven.

The Ad Age article got me thinking about what products for retirees would be improved via a marriage with Cinnabon. My problem was not coming up with ideas. It was weeding out the weaker ones and focusing on the sure winners. I wouldn’t want mine to land on the reject heap with the lip balm and Cinnapretzel.

The first product I’ll produce is Cinnabon Odor Eaters. One of the worst offenses of older folks is smelly feet. Imagine if they gave off that delightful Cinnabon aroma instead! And the farther you walk, the stronger the smell. This will be especially useful to those traveling by air and having gate assignments like B19 and C22. It will also provide motivation to get more exercise.

Speaking of which, a companion product will be the Cinnabon treadmill roller. There’s a psychological aspect to this, too, because it will remind you of what hooked you on Cinnabons to begin with. It simulates running down the concourse to catch your flight. The longer you stay on the machine, the more realistic it is. Program in a hypothetical but realistic gate number—26 say—and the mat will keep on rolling (and emitting that wonderful scent) until you’ve run as much as you would have in the airport.

An incentive to keep those pounds off is the Cinnabon digital scale. In addition to announcing your weight when you step on this electronic device, it will give off a burst of that mouth-watering smell. If you program it properly, the more you’ve lost, the stronger the explosion. As you get closer to your target weight, you’ll get a staccato of bursts. This will be a true test of your willpower.

The new product that will be most of interest to retirees is my Cinnabon Velcro. Each time you unhook the pieces, you’ll get a whiff of Cinnabon. My neighbors will find me sitting on my porch steps, pulling and reattaching, tongue hanging out of my mouth. They’ll know I’m there before they even see (or smell) me. The telltale “rip, smoosh, rip, smoosh” will give me away.

Two items that will motivate me to clean more often are Cinnabon Windex and Cinnabon Pledge. Instead of the boring orange or lemon that those products usually have, mine will smell of cinnamon, iced sugar and freshly baked yeast bread. I’ll have the cleanest windows in the neighborhood. My sinuses will benefit as well, since there won’t be as much dust around the house.

Here’s one for all you cat owners: Cinnabon litter. When Luke (my boy) scratches, the pellets will release that delightful fragrance. The formula will be strong enough to mask that other “delightful fragrance” that announces he’s had his daily constitutional. This will be a much pleasanter alert that his bathroom station needs scooping.

A personal favorite is the Cinnabon mouse pad. The more I roll my mouse over it, the stronger the aroma. I’ll be writing up a storm, but my posts will likely have much more food-related content. It’s a good thing my office is nowhere near the pantry.

Finally, I’m working with the Post Office to develop a Cinnabon postage stamp. We’ll make it the type you have to lick, so you’ll feed two senses and get a double fix. Unfortunately, these stamps will have a “use by” date, so they won’t last forever. Let’s face it: at our age, not much lasts forever anyway.

Benefits of Sitting

For some reason the media are re-publicizing the health dangers of sitting for long periods of time. The list I heard on Live with Kelly and Michael had about ten items on it. The ones that stood out were back pains, circulatory problems (including blood clots) and constipation. In my experience, constipation and back pain usually come in tandem, so I’m note sure they should be counted as separate dangers.

In any case, this itemization of negatives completely missed the positives. As a retiree who spends more and more time sitting down, I’m compelled to put forth the contrarian argument. Staying in one place is good for your health.

Let’s face it. The older we get, the harder it is to remember whether we’re coming or going. I think it has something to do with blood rushing downstream when we stand up, leaving less of it to fuel our brain cells. Retirees’ gray matter needs more oxygen, not less, so standing and walking become a detriment to our mental health.

If we’re lucky enough to figure out where we’re headed, there’s a good chance we won’t remember why it was we went there once we arrive. That’s due in part to the “event boundary” factor, which should be familiar to those who read my post: “Thresholds, Stairs and Memory Loss”.

A logical extension of all of this is that when we’re done with whatever, we can’t remember where we’re supposed to go back to, either. You don’t need fully-oxygenated gray matter to see where I’m headed (narratively, not physically; I’m sitting down). There are clear benefits to plopping your fanny in a comfortable chair for hours at a time.

The most obvious one is that you never have to wonder if you’re coming or going, or where to or from, because you’re already there. The net result is less stress, lower blood pressure and higher self esteem. All beneficial to your physical and mental health, no matter what your age.

You can enhance the benefits with a little pre-planning. Buy a convenient tote or two—the kind that handymen and gardening hobbyists carry around. Make a list of the items you use regularly: pens, scratch pads, reading glasses, lip balm, tissues, coffee mugs—you get the idea. Fasten the list securely to the side of the tote, so you won’t have to hunt for it every day.

When you’re ready to settle in, grab the tote and look at your list. Fill the container with everything you might want to use that day. By the way, if one of the things on the list is “book I’m reading,” be sure to leave a blank line where you can pencil in the title of the book and where you set it down last. You don’t want to waste valuable sitting time trying to remember what you’re reading, or running around the house looking for it.

If you want to make this routine truly effective, install one of those new fangled pod machines and a supply of bottled water close to your nest. You’ll have fresh coffee or tea at your fingertips.

My final hint for success: get a fat, washable marker and draw a circle around your chair to delineate the area that’s within arm’s length. Position your tote, your Keurig-wannabe, your book(s), craft supplies, whatever, within the circle. You’ll be guaranteed to be able to reach everything without getting up off your ever-widening butt. Wider butts improve sitting stability, by the way.

The circle has an extra advantage. Anyone who is foolish enough to disturb you will know to stay beyond the marker line. Otherwise, you’ll be able to smack them with the fly swatter in your tote, without having to lift an inch off your chair.

So you see, staying put can offer health advantages to your friends and family, too. For inquiring minds that want to know, I’m setting up my chair area next to my wine rack. I have an easy-to-use corkscrew and a box of very long straws in my tote.

Hail Marys and Late Life Pouts

The New York Times ran an article titled “The Hail-Mary-Moon.” The phrase is a take off on the Hail-Mary-Pass. For those who need it, I give you this definition of the football play from Wikipedia. “The Hail May pass… is a very long forward pass… made in desperation with only a small chance of success, especially at or near the end of a half.”

Wikipedia tells us the phrase originally meant “any sort of desperation play.” The long-pass meaning became popular thanks to Roger Staubach, then quarterback of the Dallas Cowboys. After his 1975 playoff-game-winning touchdown pass, Staubach (a good Catholic boy) was quoted as saying: "I closed my eyes and said a Hail Mary." The pass was thrown from midfield with just 32 seconds left in the game. My thoughts on reading this: “Wow! There were playoff games in December in the seventies.”

Getting back to that “any sort of desperation play” definition, we return to The Hail-Mary-Moon (also sometimes called a save-cation). The article’s author, Carrie Seim, reports that for some pairs: “egged on by couples’ therapists and travel agents, the best way to address a rift in the marriage, and to see whether it can be healed, is to take a last-ditch vacation.” Having therapists and travel agents pushing these trips raises a red flag in a relationship battle for me, not a white one.

Seim provides an example of a couple married 20 years who saved their marriage by taking a cruise to Mexico. Other couples fared not so well. One pair who traveled with their best friends not only got divorced after the trip, they wound up trading partners. It seems the swaperoo was kindled during the stay-cation for two of them. The tossed aside spouses eventually found love again—with each other. Someone needs to make up a clever moon name for that outcome.

It seems a few folks try the Hail-Mary-Moon because they think it will be cheaper than a divorce. Talk about something done “in desperation with only a small chance of success.” Call me a cynic, but if you’re doing this because of your wallet, I think you need more like a Novena-Moon.

Apparently it’s not just the authors of newspaper articles that noticed this trend. Screenwriters are onto it, too. A new film called Le Week-End follows an older British couple who decide to spend their 30^th wedding anniversary where went on their honeymoon—Paris. Their expectation is to either refurbish their frayed marriage or face the fact that the music is over. I’ve not seen the movie, but it sounds like they go on a roller-coaster ride of emotions and expectations.

The site RogerEbert.com awards the film three and a half stars (out of four), but the LATimes.com snarks that it is “sour and misanthropic” and “unremittingly bleak.” This contrast in reviews strikes me as an apt metaphor for many marriages that are coming unraveled: one partner finds the daily familiarity to be peachy, the other picks at the sour grapes of predictability.

To up your chances of success rekindling a fading romance, check out Elle.com’s “Real Beauty.” The subject of a recent email read: “How to get the perfect crimson pout.” Elle.com tells us: “When it comes to makeup, nothing rivals the power of a red lip. A crimson pout will… up your sex factor.” I’ll bet. The article lists the red lipstick choices of ten celebrities, but not much else.

I found helpful advice on lifestyle.ca.msn.com. From makeup artist Emily Kate Warren: "Gently rub lips with a warm, wet washcloth before you apply any color." The site tells us to “let your lips go a bit slack” to get an even application. According to CoverGirl makeup artist Molly Stern, "Puckering too much makes it hard to get a perfect finish." I don’t know about you, but I’ve always avoided over-puckering.

The take away from all of this seems to be that, if your marriage has become too comfortable, you need to escape your daily rut to get a fresh start. Other than the clever “moon” label and new lipstick colors, I’m not sure why this is newsworthy. It stands to reason that if a relationship is no longer working, you need to change things up. Either get away separately, or go away together. And call it whatever.

Frankly, I’d be happy to claim that my marriage is on the rocks if I thought it would get me a trip to Paris. I’ll go with or without my husband, though I’d prefer with. If it will help make it happen, I’ll say ten Hail Marys. Glory be and hallelujah! Excuse me while I go practice my pout.

Perks of Retirement

A post on a friend’s Facebook page got me thinking about the perks of retirement. The friend isn’t retired; she’s still required to get out of bed every weekday to go to an office somewhere. That’s part of what motivated her comment on this recent frigid morning. “I wished I could crawl back in bed, pull the covers over my head and hibernate until it’s over.”

My immediate reaction was: “Hibernation! What a great idea! Now that I’m retired, I could actually do that all winter if I really wanted to.” It’s not likely I’ll choose to hibernate, but the option is there for me. At the very least, I can do that pull-the-covers-over-my-head thing. If I put out enough dry food and several bowls of fresh water for my cat, Luke, I could borrow like that for days. If it’s really cold, I could probably get Luke to cuddle under there with me awhile. Double perk.

We’re ready to list our house for sale (again). My real estate agent plans to stop by today to drop off some paperwork. Since I’m on the computer in my basement office, it will take me a few minutes to get upstairs to answer the door. I told her to call me when she’s in front of the house so I can meet her at her car. (She’s recovering from some surgery.) This put another perk of retirement into my head.

When I’m not expecting anyone, I don’t have to answer the door if I’m busy or too lazy to go upstairs. Or downstairs. Or get up from the kitchen table. If it turns out it was someone I know—a friend or a neighbor, say—I can always tell her we must have been out of town. Retirees go out of town at the drop of a hat. Are relatives looking to visit for a few days and I don’t want them around? I’ll say we decided to head south to escape the snow. Or to see a city that’s on our bucket list.

Retirees are expected to have a bucket list. One from which they’re actively checking things off (before they check out). We don’t have a bucket list, but this could be another perk of retirement. First, that we’re entitled to lie about things, like being out of town and having lists of any kind. Second, that we can take the time to put together a bucket list. And then make and execute plans to tick things off. Or ignore it altogether. Whatever.

Some about-be-retirees look forward to having more time to cook. Perhaps to sign up for a couples’ cooking class. Or take chefs’ classes at Le Cordon Bleu. By the way, the website Chefs.com takes you to Le Cordon Bleu’s Bleu Ribbon Kitchen. Not “Blue Ribbon.” And not “Bleu Ruban.” Aside from the inconsistency of languages used, isn’t “cordon” just another French word for “ribbon”? It means “rope” or “cord,” after all. So, Le Cordon Bleu Bleu Ribbon Kitchen is “the blue ribbon blue ribbon kitchen.”

I find this annoying, but I digress. Getting back to perks. My retirement is a time to stock up the freezer with Kashi dinners and not feel guilty when I don’t prepare proper meals three nights in a row. Or longer. Except for Luke’s of course.

The more I think about them, the more I like these perks of retirement. Once we sell the house and downsize out of Rhode Island, the possibilities will increase. For one thing, I’ll be able to get my husband away from his store. He still goes to work every morning and he’s there about 90 hours a week. When that’s in our rearview, we can enjoy the perks together. On frigid mornings, I might even get him to cuddle under the covers with Luke and me. There’s one for my bucket list.

Budgeting Tools

One of the most important skills a recent or soon-to-be retiree must master is budgeting. First you have to determine how much income you can reasonably count on after you stop working full time. Then you have to figure out how you will spend it. Alternately, you can decide what you need (or want) to spend in retirement, and then wrack your brain over where the heck that amount of money will come from. Which generally leads to rethinking how much you really need to spend.

There are many books and websites to help with this planning. But few of them provide tools to help you sequester your funds into the categories you’ve identified in your retirement budget. A commercial from the financial services company ING offers an unusual suggestion. Money earmarked for retirement is colored orange (the same as ING’s logo). That doesn’t seem practical. Plus U.S. Code Title 18 Section 333 tells us it’s illegal to deface U.S. currency.

Specifically: “Whoever mutilates,… disfigures, or… does any other thing to any bank bill… issued by… the Federal Reserve System, with intent to render such… unfit to be reissued, shall be fined… or imprisoned not more than six months, or both.” There’s room for interpretation about what rendering money “unfit to be reissued” means, but I don’t think Uncle Sam would look kindly on dying our money orange.

That left me pondering other tools to help retirees set aside income earmarked for specific expenses. I’m reminded of something from my childhood. When I was 3, we moved from a suburb of Newark, New Jersey to live year round in the summer cottage my father had built in northern Jersey. He winterized it gradually and for years we had a potbellied stove in the living room to provide extra heat.

At the time, my father’s method of budgeting was manila envelopes. Every payday, he put cash into “files” labeled mortgage, groceries, oil, etc. The stove was still with us in the early 1950’s when he finally opened a checking account. The Federal Reserve Bank of Atlanta’s website tells us: “Checking accounts in the United States almost doubled between 1939 and 1952,” so my father was a late adopter. The FRBA site credits the growth after 1952 to the advent of MICR (Magnetic Ink Character Recognition).

MICR not withstanding, I’m not sure what led to the switch from cash to checks in our household. We lived in God’s country, with just a Catholic Church and a bar (the neighborhood essentials) in our hamlet. My father commuted to work by car about three hours a day round trip. Perhaps a bank branch with convenient hours opened en route. What I do know is that, once he had the checking account, he ceremoniously burned the now-obsolete manila envelopes in the potbelly.

I must have been around 7 then and I was thrilled to be allowed to help out. My father retrieved any important contents from the envelopes and gave the empties to me to bundle for him to burn. Imagine my excitement when I discovered a five-dollar bill still inside one! I didn’t get to keep the money, but I never forgot the “attaboy” from my father. (He did not bestow praise gratuitously.)

Looking back, I realize my mother was probably behind the switch to checking. She might have had her eye on one of those toasters that banks gave out in the early fifties for newly opened accounts. More likely she decided she wanted to free up space in the living room, because the stove disappeared soon after the burning ritual.

This brings me to some tools for sequestering money into budgeted slots. One solution (an improved version of my father’s manila envelopes) is to put the cash into see-thru Ziploc bags marked for each item. You can also use empty pill bottles. Match the vitamin letter to the budget category: E for electric, C for cell phone, Multi for mortgage. Or prescriptions: Hydrocodone for house repairs, Lipitor for lawn care, Plavix for physicians. You get the idea.

I especially like the Sock Solution, because it takes care of another problem: mismatched socks. The ones whose mate disappeared, but the minute you throw it out, the lost one will show up. Stuff your cash into socks labeled for each budget category. Knot the ends and stow them in a drawer marked “Budget.”

Alternately, open new checking accounts earmarked just for each specific need. (Good luck keeping them straight.) The bank might even give you a thermal mug. Or a polar fleece blanket. But don’t expect a toaster.