Retirement is a time when it makes sense to adopt new technology; it can make our lives so much easier. Fortunately, we have plenty of time to become familiar with new things. Unfortunately, the ETrade baby is more tech savvy than much of the generation that witnessed Woodstock and Watergate. (He even has more hair than many of us.)
Among the newer tools are the apps for smart phones. For those out of touch with the lingo, “app” is short for “application,” not “aptitude,” but you do need some skill to use these. My cell phone is stupid; it’s for emergencies and travel and has a 100 minutes per month limit. I never text; that costs extra. I don’t even know if the phone takes pictures.
Nonetheless, when I hear: “There’s an app for that,” it piques my curiosity. So, for those with phones that are smarter than mine (which would be most, if not all, of you…), I’ve researched some of the newest, coolest, most useful apps for retirees.
The first of these is Apple’s Find My iPhone, which gives you a map showing where your phone is. It’s not clear how a map on the phone you can’t find can help you locate that phone. However, I have it on good authority that variations will be available shortly that will pinpoint your car in a multi-story parking garage and your reading glasses anywhere in your house, including on top of your head. Now those are apps that retirees are waiting for.
Another good app is Word Lens. The original was developed to translate printed material between English and Spanish. You’ll want to get the up ‘til now top secret "big print" version, which is in beta testing. Point your smart phone at any printed info and it will magnify it to the level you’ve specified. This will be especially helpful if you’ve misplaced your reading glasses and don’t have the Find My Glasses app. As your eyesight gets progressively worse, just key in the new magnification and you’re back in business. That’s an app worth getting a smart phone for.
If you’re a retirochondriac (see recent post on that,) you’ll want to get the WebMD app to search your symptoms. Few people know about its companion MedAlert app that tracks down your physician with an emergency page. The app is smart enough to figure out which doctor from your lengthy contact list handles the condition involved. I don’t know about you, but sometimes I’m not even sure who handles what in my healthcare.
The gardeners among you will want the Weed Wacker app. Snap a photo of any emerging greenery (or brownery) and the app will tell you whether to pull it, pluck it, mulch it or fertilize it. The game Trade Nations is described as “best played in short, productive bursts.” Talk about an app made in heaven for retirees. I wish my entire day could be spent in short, productive bursts. Puzzle Agent promises an “engrossing experience” that combines “classic adventure games with thought-provoking puzzles.” I've reached the age where most puzzles are engrossing or thought-provoking. I don’t need an app for that.
Many apps do price comparisons, but I decided to check out Budget Police. With most retirees on fixed budgets, it sounded like a sure winner. You key in your weekly spending allocation and your proposed shopping list. It prioritizes your purchases and tells you where to get them at the best price. If your list goes over budget, it deletes the items it decides you don’t need. I did a test run with Budget Police. It deleted the wine off my list and said I was over quota for the month. You can be sure I won’t be upgrading to a smart phone to get an app that tells me I can’t buy wine.
N.O.V.A.2 is a game app that arms you with futuristic powers, like slowing down time, an invaluable tool for a retiree. I hear that N.O.V.A.3 (due out next year) will enable you to aim your phone at any part of your body and relieve the symptoms of arthritis. N.O.V.A.4 (still under development) will work similarly, but will burn off fat. I’m on the advance purchase list for that one. If it really works, I’d like to join the Artisanal Chocolate of the Month Club. I wonder if there’s an app for that…
BlogHer
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Retirement Issues - Retirochondria
So many people are self-diagnosing by Googling their health symptoms that medical professionals have coined a new term: “cyberchondriacs.” It describes those who get so immersed in health-related research online that they’re sure they have dozens of ailments.
In my week of retirement I’m already more in tune with my body’s aches and pains than when I was going to an office. Either our house is an environmental hazard, or the leisure time that retirement affords leads to physical introspection along with psychological.
Of course, there is a third possibility. Like many new retirees, I’m watching more TV. This will wear thin pretty quickly, but for now, I’m doing it just because I can. It seems every third commercial is for a remedy for some health issue. During a few of these commercials, I’ve noted that I have at least one of the symptoms described.
I’m then compelled to go online to learn more about whether my symptoms (morning stiffness and fatigue, for example) mean I have fibromyalgia (for example) or some other ailment for which treatment is less pricey. This leads to more research, and a sizable list of conditions that cause stiffness, fatigue and memory problems. (I forgot to mention that one.)
Although many of these are normal signs of aging, I’m drawn to the more exotic explanations. Simply put, I’m at risk of becoming a “retirochondriac.” I’m sure there are thousands like me out there, perhaps too ashamed to admit it. Know that you are not alone. Step into the light.
Some of the information I’ve uncovered is alarming. For awhile I’ve been experiencing seemingly contradictory symptoms in my toes—both numb and at the same time tingly with sharp pain. A friend said it sounds like neuropathy but I’m not so sure. When I checked these symptoms online, I discovered I might have been stung by a cone snail.
This is not as far fetched as it may seem. From the photos, I recognized these critters as being among the shells displayed artistically in a china bowl in our living room. (Some of you would say they are simply piled in the bowl, but you would be lacking creative vision.) Now I imagine the snails crawling around the house at night, looking for toes to sting. Laugh if you must, but I’m taking this very seriously. Severe cases of cone snail stings can lead to blurred vision (hm-m-m…) and respiratory paralysis. Note to self: ask eye doctor what he knows about cone snails.
Closer to home is the possibility that I have atrial fibrillation, which my mother had and which more than doubles one’s likelihood of developing dementia after surviving a stroke. My mind is already wandering dangerously close to the outskirts of sanity. I don’t need to add to my risk of dementia. The commercial for MULTAQ prompted me to learn the symptoms of AFib and where better to look than online?
Lack of energy—check, especially after a big meal (or a few glasses of wine…) Heart palpitations—check, but only when I lie awake at night thinking about everything I didn’t get done. Dizziness—check, especially when I stand up suddenly (after a few glasses of wine.) This is definitely something I’ll ask my GP to investigate on my next visit.
While I was on WebMD, I researched one of my husband’s symptoms. He’s developed a quirk in his sleep—his legs twitch. Repeatedly. And at regular intervals. (I timed them at 12 to 15 seconds.) I assumed he has restless leg syndrome. Turns out it’s Periodic Limb Movement Disorder. PLMD happens only at night, and the usual intervals are 20 to 40 seconds. Causes can include iron deficiency and anemia. He’s been tired lately and needs more sleep. It’s no wonder. You’d be exhausted, too, if you exercised all night.
His recent blood tests showed that his hemoglobin is low, and his doctors have run additional tests. They’ve scheduled him at a sleep clinic because they suspect he suffers from apnea, along with anemia. (This diagnosis brought to you by the letter “A.") If they just spent a little more time on WebMD (or in bed with him,) they’d look into PLMD. Fortunately, the sleep clinic can also detect PLMD. I’m looking forward to his trip so we can sort this out, and so I’ll get at least one good night’s sleep.
Time for one last pass through the symptoms search on WebMD. Let’s see what we find for being exhausted (especially after clearing out a wall full of books and other stuff,) craving ice cream sandwiches (and a glass of Cab,) frequent trips to the loo (after lots of Cab,) and mood swings (when I’ve run out of ice cream and wine.) Well, what do you know! It looks like I may be pregnant. I guess that means I should cut out the wine, but who are we kidding. I’m as likely to do that as I am to be pregnant.
So much for self-diagnosis. Seriously, we all need to be our own best health advocates. The more we understand our bodies and our baseline conditions, the better we can help our physicians keep us healthy. So, get on the Internet, research your symptoms and make your own list of ailments to annoy your doctor about. And don’t forget cone snails.
In my week of retirement I’m already more in tune with my body’s aches and pains than when I was going to an office. Either our house is an environmental hazard, or the leisure time that retirement affords leads to physical introspection along with psychological.
Of course, there is a third possibility. Like many new retirees, I’m watching more TV. This will wear thin pretty quickly, but for now, I’m doing it just because I can. It seems every third commercial is for a remedy for some health issue. During a few of these commercials, I’ve noted that I have at least one of the symptoms described.
I’m then compelled to go online to learn more about whether my symptoms (morning stiffness and fatigue, for example) mean I have fibromyalgia (for example) or some other ailment for which treatment is less pricey. This leads to more research, and a sizable list of conditions that cause stiffness, fatigue and memory problems. (I forgot to mention that one.)
Although many of these are normal signs of aging, I’m drawn to the more exotic explanations. Simply put, I’m at risk of becoming a “retirochondriac.” I’m sure there are thousands like me out there, perhaps too ashamed to admit it. Know that you are not alone. Step into the light.
Some of the information I’ve uncovered is alarming. For awhile I’ve been experiencing seemingly contradictory symptoms in my toes—both numb and at the same time tingly with sharp pain. A friend said it sounds like neuropathy but I’m not so sure. When I checked these symptoms online, I discovered I might have been stung by a cone snail.
This is not as far fetched as it may seem. From the photos, I recognized these critters as being among the shells displayed artistically in a china bowl in our living room. (Some of you would say they are simply piled in the bowl, but you would be lacking creative vision.) Now I imagine the snails crawling around the house at night, looking for toes to sting. Laugh if you must, but I’m taking this very seriously. Severe cases of cone snail stings can lead to blurred vision (hm-m-m…) and respiratory paralysis. Note to self: ask eye doctor what he knows about cone snails.
Closer to home is the possibility that I have atrial fibrillation, which my mother had and which more than doubles one’s likelihood of developing dementia after surviving a stroke. My mind is already wandering dangerously close to the outskirts of sanity. I don’t need to add to my risk of dementia. The commercial for MULTAQ prompted me to learn the symptoms of AFib and where better to look than online?
Lack of energy—check, especially after a big meal (or a few glasses of wine…) Heart palpitations—check, but only when I lie awake at night thinking about everything I didn’t get done. Dizziness—check, especially when I stand up suddenly (after a few glasses of wine.) This is definitely something I’ll ask my GP to investigate on my next visit.
While I was on WebMD, I researched one of my husband’s symptoms. He’s developed a quirk in his sleep—his legs twitch. Repeatedly. And at regular intervals. (I timed them at 12 to 15 seconds.) I assumed he has restless leg syndrome. Turns out it’s Periodic Limb Movement Disorder. PLMD happens only at night, and the usual intervals are 20 to 40 seconds. Causes can include iron deficiency and anemia. He’s been tired lately and needs more sleep. It’s no wonder. You’d be exhausted, too, if you exercised all night.
His recent blood tests showed that his hemoglobin is low, and his doctors have run additional tests. They’ve scheduled him at a sleep clinic because they suspect he suffers from apnea, along with anemia. (This diagnosis brought to you by the letter “A.") If they just spent a little more time on WebMD (or in bed with him,) they’d look into PLMD. Fortunately, the sleep clinic can also detect PLMD. I’m looking forward to his trip so we can sort this out, and so I’ll get at least one good night’s sleep.
Time for one last pass through the symptoms search on WebMD. Let’s see what we find for being exhausted (especially after clearing out a wall full of books and other stuff,) craving ice cream sandwiches (and a glass of Cab,) frequent trips to the loo (after lots of Cab,) and mood swings (when I’ve run out of ice cream and wine.) Well, what do you know! It looks like I may be pregnant. I guess that means I should cut out the wine, but who are we kidding. I’m as likely to do that as I am to be pregnant.
So much for self-diagnosis. Seriously, we all need to be our own best health advocates. The more we understand our bodies and our baseline conditions, the better we can help our physicians keep us healthy. So, get on the Internet, research your symptoms and make your own list of ailments to annoy your doctor about. And don’t forget cone snails.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Retirement Transitions - “Free” Time
Reporting in after three days of retirement, I’m already getting a taste of what those who have gone before me keep saying: you are busier when you retire than you were when you worked full time.
Much of Monday was spent sorting through items on the built-in shelves in our family room. Mostly we’re talking framed photos and books, with a few other items to break the monotony. I’ve removed half the photos, but I’ll lay odds that my realtor (yet to be chosen) will tell me there are still too many. But deciding which family photos to get rid of is a tad too much “Sophie’s Choice” for me right now.
The books were also challenging. I wasn’t committed enough to the task to get the step stool, so I couldn’t reach the top three shelves. Still, I felt a sense of accomplishment as I cleaned several layers of grime off the bare shelves and then put back the keepers. I was left with stacks of books and photos to sort for further disposition. Some of the piles are now upstairs, near a wall of built-ins that hold exclusively books. I fear I’ve simply moved the monkey off one back and onto another.
On a positive note, this process motivated me to assemble a few storage boxes and dig out packing material from the basement. It was left from our move here in 1992. I rarely throw out anything that can be recycled. This in itself will pose a challenge to downsizing, but I’ll deal with that another day.
Once I had the boxes and bubble wrap and tissue, I began sorting through the piles of tchotchke that have been accumulating as the workmen attacked various projects these last few months. (I’ve been careful not to re-clutter the rooms as they get spiffed up for that buyer with deep pockets who is going to fall in love with our house.) Ever the Virgo (or at least I used to be,) I’m systematically sorting the excess décor. Some to sell, some to donate and some to pack to take with us when we move.
All in all, I considered Monday to be a productive day. Then there was Tuesday, which has me wondering about the phrase “free” time. I spent most of the day running errands, yet I got very little accomplished for my downsizing goal.
My tax paperwork had arrived from my accountant Monday. Who knew so many things that used to be 100% deductible no longer are at all, or are now subject to those percent-of-income thresholds? Tuesday’s errands included trips to two banks to move funds from my left pocket to my right so I can reward our mutual uncle for another year of… remind me again what we reward him for?
Other locations that were graced by my retired self on Tuesday: Home Depot, Job Lot, the local hardware/paint store—twice (yes, I forgot some things,) and the local food market. This last stop I had planned because Tuesday is their senior discount day. They didn’t ask for proof of age, but that didn’t offend me. For them, anyone over 55 is a senior, but the average age of those in the store was 80 plus. Many of them were having lunch in the little café area, apparently a social event. I couldn’t decide if I found this cute or scary, which in and of itself is frightening.
Along the way, I stopped at my friend’s house, planning to surprise her for a cuppa. Unfortunately, she was not home, bursting yet another bubble of how much fun having “free” time would be—dropping in unexpectedly for a relaxed chat. The upside (?) of this was that it left me with time to do a second load of laundry.
This brings us to Wednesday. Shortly after noon, I headed to my old office to tie up some loose ends and to participate in a conference call for a committee that I agreed to support for a few months. I even packed my lunch Tuesday night, a workday ritual. The few hours planned expanded to five and a half hours spent. At least it wasn’t a Friday.
Right about now, those of you who’ve been through this transition are yelling at your computer screens: “Stop it! You’re retired! You should not be going to the office. You should be having fun.” Rest assured, I’m yelling the same things at myself, along with: “And where was the part about getting some exercise?”
I promise I’ll do better next week. I will not give up on my friend where I stopped for tea. You don’t need to worry that I’ll become part of the Tuesday lunch crowd at the local market. I’ve never been much of a joiner. More likely, I’ll start having lunch with my friend. She serves wine in her café.
Much of Monday was spent sorting through items on the built-in shelves in our family room. Mostly we’re talking framed photos and books, with a few other items to break the monotony. I’ve removed half the photos, but I’ll lay odds that my realtor (yet to be chosen) will tell me there are still too many. But deciding which family photos to get rid of is a tad too much “Sophie’s Choice” for me right now.
The books were also challenging. I wasn’t committed enough to the task to get the step stool, so I couldn’t reach the top three shelves. Still, I felt a sense of accomplishment as I cleaned several layers of grime off the bare shelves and then put back the keepers. I was left with stacks of books and photos to sort for further disposition. Some of the piles are now upstairs, near a wall of built-ins that hold exclusively books. I fear I’ve simply moved the monkey off one back and onto another.
On a positive note, this process motivated me to assemble a few storage boxes and dig out packing material from the basement. It was left from our move here in 1992. I rarely throw out anything that can be recycled. This in itself will pose a challenge to downsizing, but I’ll deal with that another day.
Once I had the boxes and bubble wrap and tissue, I began sorting through the piles of tchotchke that have been accumulating as the workmen attacked various projects these last few months. (I’ve been careful not to re-clutter the rooms as they get spiffed up for that buyer with deep pockets who is going to fall in love with our house.) Ever the Virgo (or at least I used to be,) I’m systematically sorting the excess décor. Some to sell, some to donate and some to pack to take with us when we move.
All in all, I considered Monday to be a productive day. Then there was Tuesday, which has me wondering about the phrase “free” time. I spent most of the day running errands, yet I got very little accomplished for my downsizing goal.
My tax paperwork had arrived from my accountant Monday. Who knew so many things that used to be 100% deductible no longer are at all, or are now subject to those percent-of-income thresholds? Tuesday’s errands included trips to two banks to move funds from my left pocket to my right so I can reward our mutual uncle for another year of… remind me again what we reward him for?
Other locations that were graced by my retired self on Tuesday: Home Depot, Job Lot, the local hardware/paint store—twice (yes, I forgot some things,) and the local food market. This last stop I had planned because Tuesday is their senior discount day. They didn’t ask for proof of age, but that didn’t offend me. For them, anyone over 55 is a senior, but the average age of those in the store was 80 plus. Many of them were having lunch in the little café area, apparently a social event. I couldn’t decide if I found this cute or scary, which in and of itself is frightening.
Along the way, I stopped at my friend’s house, planning to surprise her for a cuppa. Unfortunately, she was not home, bursting yet another bubble of how much fun having “free” time would be—dropping in unexpectedly for a relaxed chat. The upside (?) of this was that it left me with time to do a second load of laundry.
This brings us to Wednesday. Shortly after noon, I headed to my old office to tie up some loose ends and to participate in a conference call for a committee that I agreed to support for a few months. I even packed my lunch Tuesday night, a workday ritual. The few hours planned expanded to five and a half hours spent. At least it wasn’t a Friday.
Right about now, those of you who’ve been through this transition are yelling at your computer screens: “Stop it! You’re retired! You should not be going to the office. You should be having fun.” Rest assured, I’m yelling the same things at myself, along with: “And where was the part about getting some exercise?”
I promise I’ll do better next week. I will not give up on my friend where I stopped for tea. You don’t need to worry that I’ll become part of the Tuesday lunch crowd at the local market. I’ve never been much of a joiner. More likely, I’ll start having lunch with my friend. She serves wine in her café.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
Retirement Issues - Seeking Identity
This morning I woke up and realized that I’m finally retired. I am no longer the Executive Director of a nonprofit federation. On my “to do” list: get new business cards, but I won’t be running off to Staples to get ones that read “Elaine M. Decker, Retiree.” Also unacceptable is: “Executive Director, Emerita;” it puts the focus on what I was, not what I am. It looks like I need to find a new identity.
Obviously, I’m a blogger. Some of you know I’m also a freelance writer. Combining those gives several choices. “Frogger” is the most obvious, and while I admit to being a Francophile, “frogger” sounds too condescending. It also reminds me of the nickname my brother’s dorm mates gave him when they learned his hometown was Green Pond.
“Flogger” is no improvement, as it implies that I beat my writing into submission. True, I edit a lot, and “wordsmith” may be a cousin to “blacksmith,” but I do not beat my words. Nor do I mince them. Slice them and dice them, perhaps. Massage them, certainly. But flog them? Never.
Then there is “freeger,” which sounds like some nefarious trade or a delivery method for illicit drugs. Switching the order of things gives me “bleeger,” which too closely resembles the surname of a tousle-haired young singer with first name Justin. “Bloglancer” feels too archaic for my edgy writing.
Some other hats I wear are marketer and web developer. That gives us “webmarker” and “marloper,” both of which leave me cold. Although I could live with “marvel,” it’s not a good fit with my self-deprecating tone.
Clearly the concatenation approach is not bearing usable fruit. I need to think more esoterically. I’m a philosopher (too stuffy) and a ruminator (conjuring up images that remind me that a post-retirement goal is to exercise more. Not something I'd want on my business cards.)
"Satirist" is a possibility, given my style, but I’d worry people would think “satyress,” considering how often wine shows up in my blog posts. "Entrepreneur" is another option, especially if it brings good karma so I make some money off my various ventures. Of course, we all know how likely that is.
As a last resort, I could always append a status word to the end of my name. Several of my attorney friends have cards that read: Legal Eagle, Esquire. Since I probe the pressing issues of our day, perhaps mine could read: Elaine M. Decker, Inquire (too much like a newspaper.) Or, looking to my desire to become the female Dave Barry: Elaine M. Decker, Aspire (too… well, aspirational.)
It looks like this is going to take some time to sort out. But I should probably make it a point to do it soon. The last thing I want is to have my cards read: Elaine M. Decker, Expired. It would give ironic new meaning to having the last word.
Obviously, I’m a blogger. Some of you know I’m also a freelance writer. Combining those gives several choices. “Frogger” is the most obvious, and while I admit to being a Francophile, “frogger” sounds too condescending. It also reminds me of the nickname my brother’s dorm mates gave him when they learned his hometown was Green Pond.
“Flogger” is no improvement, as it implies that I beat my writing into submission. True, I edit a lot, and “wordsmith” may be a cousin to “blacksmith,” but I do not beat my words. Nor do I mince them. Slice them and dice them, perhaps. Massage them, certainly. But flog them? Never.
Then there is “freeger,” which sounds like some nefarious trade or a delivery method for illicit drugs. Switching the order of things gives me “bleeger,” which too closely resembles the surname of a tousle-haired young singer with first name Justin. “Bloglancer” feels too archaic for my edgy writing.
Some other hats I wear are marketer and web developer. That gives us “webmarker” and “marloper,” both of which leave me cold. Although I could live with “marvel,” it’s not a good fit with my self-deprecating tone.
Clearly the concatenation approach is not bearing usable fruit. I need to think more esoterically. I’m a philosopher (too stuffy) and a ruminator (conjuring up images that remind me that a post-retirement goal is to exercise more. Not something I'd want on my business cards.)
"Satirist" is a possibility, given my style, but I’d worry people would think “satyress,” considering how often wine shows up in my blog posts. "Entrepreneur" is another option, especially if it brings good karma so I make some money off my various ventures. Of course, we all know how likely that is.
As a last resort, I could always append a status word to the end of my name. Several of my attorney friends have cards that read: Legal Eagle, Esquire. Since I probe the pressing issues of our day, perhaps mine could read: Elaine M. Decker, Inquire (too much like a newspaper.) Or, looking to my desire to become the female Dave Barry: Elaine M. Decker, Aspire (too… well, aspirational.)
It looks like this is going to take some time to sort out. But I should probably make it a point to do it soon. The last thing I want is to have my cards read: Elaine M. Decker, Expired. It would give ironic new meaning to having the last word.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Retirement Commandments - Zoroastrian Version (Thou Shalts)
My husband (Hindu by birth) pointed out that the Zoroastrian version of commandments states everything in the positive, not the negative (more "thou shalt" than "thou shalt not.") So, in a nod to ecumenicalism, here are the Zoroastrian Retirement Commandments.
1. Thou shalt establish a daily routine and adhere to it. Thou shalt be sure to include time for spontaneity, ideally from 11 am to noon and from 7:30 to 8 pm.
2. Prepare thee a budget and keep thee to it, no matter how cute the red shoes are that thou finds on sale. Know thee that “sexy orthopedics” is an oxymoron.
3. Honor thy social security, for thou might be the last generation to get it.
4. Thou shalt alter thy grocery shopping schedule to coincide with Senior Discount Day. If thou hast a choice in stores, thou shalt go to the one that asks for proof of age, telling thee thou cannot possibly be a senior citizen.
5. Thou shalt exercise every day and shalt include both aerobics and weight bearing exercises. Getting out of bed and climbing in and out of the bathtub count as weight bearing exercises. Shaking all night long from restless leg syndrome and slipping and falling in the shower are examples of aerobic activity.
6. Gather around thee thy family and friends for mutual support, such as plucking each other’s chin hairs. If thou relocates, thou shalt find new friends, preferably ones with good eyesight and steady hands.
7. Thou shalt faithfully take thy vitamins and daily medication as prescribed by thy physician. Remember to include thy liquid vitamins—especially the red ones in the green glass bottles.
8. Beware of false prophets promising extraordinary profits. Thy retirement is not a time for high risk ventures (or low rise pants.)
9. Speak respectfully of thine elders, no matter how bizarre their behavior, for some day thou might become one of them.
10. Thou shalt prepare a to-do list for each day. Thou shalt then proceed to do absolutely nothing that is on the to-do list. That is what retirement is all about.
All of these commandments are important, but the tenth one is the most important of all. If you choose to obey only one, that’s the one you should follow. I, however, will be sure to obey number 7. (Surprise, surprise.)
1. Thou shalt establish a daily routine and adhere to it. Thou shalt be sure to include time for spontaneity, ideally from 11 am to noon and from 7:30 to 8 pm.
2. Prepare thee a budget and keep thee to it, no matter how cute the red shoes are that thou finds on sale. Know thee that “sexy orthopedics” is an oxymoron.
3. Honor thy social security, for thou might be the last generation to get it.
4. Thou shalt alter thy grocery shopping schedule to coincide with Senior Discount Day. If thou hast a choice in stores, thou shalt go to the one that asks for proof of age, telling thee thou cannot possibly be a senior citizen.
5. Thou shalt exercise every day and shalt include both aerobics and weight bearing exercises. Getting out of bed and climbing in and out of the bathtub count as weight bearing exercises. Shaking all night long from restless leg syndrome and slipping and falling in the shower are examples of aerobic activity.
6. Gather around thee thy family and friends for mutual support, such as plucking each other’s chin hairs. If thou relocates, thou shalt find new friends, preferably ones with good eyesight and steady hands.
7. Thou shalt faithfully take thy vitamins and daily medication as prescribed by thy physician. Remember to include thy liquid vitamins—especially the red ones in the green glass bottles.
8. Beware of false prophets promising extraordinary profits. Thy retirement is not a time for high risk ventures (or low rise pants.)
9. Speak respectfully of thine elders, no matter how bizarre their behavior, for some day thou might become one of them.
10. Thou shalt prepare a to-do list for each day. Thou shalt then proceed to do absolutely nothing that is on the to-do list. That is what retirement is all about.
All of these commandments are important, but the tenth one is the most important of all. If you choose to obey only one, that’s the one you should follow. I, however, will be sure to obey number 7. (Surprise, surprise.)
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Retirement Commandments - Judeo-Christian Version (Thou Shalt Nots)
Since the posts on Retirement Beatitudes and the Patron Saint of Retirees were so well received, I give you today the Ten Retirement Commandments, Judeo-Christian style. (Thou shalt nots.)
1. Thou shalt not tell thy successor how to do thy job, as it is no longer thine.
2. Thou shalt not pester thy former colleagues every day for information on how things are going at thy old office. (See commandment #1.)
3. Thou shalt not taunt pre-retirees on their way to work each morning. Remember: Their paychecks are generating the contributions that are helping to keep Social Security solvent.
4. Thou shalt not bear false witness about how thou spent thy day, trying to make it sound more productive or exciting. It is what it is. (Or was.)
5. Thou shalt not commit line dancing, no matter how itchy thy feet may get when the music starts. Thou might as well carry a huge placard that reads “Retiree with no life.”
6. Thou shalt not engage in competitions with fellow-retirees to see who can grow the biggest tomatoes (or squash, or sunflowers, or… thou gets the idea.)
7. Thou shalt not embarrass thy pets by dressing them up in cute little outfits to break up the monotony. If thou art bored in thy retirement, take thee up a hobby.
8. Thou shalt not crochet tacky tissue and toilet paper covers to give to thy friends. This is not what We had in mind when We said “hobby.” (See commandment #7.)
9. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s pension (or condo, or vegetable garden, or… thou gets the idea.) (See commandment # 6.)
10. Thou shalt not succumb to the temptations of the phish. (See post of January 15.) Thou dost not have a long lost uncle who became a missionary in Nigeria. Do not send his widow money, no matter how poignant her email may be. Tell her thou art on a fixed income with no discretionary spending. Thou shalt not be lying.
I could go on, but since the original came in a set of ten, it seems respectful to keep this list at ten as well.
1. Thou shalt not tell thy successor how to do thy job, as it is no longer thine.
2. Thou shalt not pester thy former colleagues every day for information on how things are going at thy old office. (See commandment #1.)
3. Thou shalt not taunt pre-retirees on their way to work each morning. Remember: Their paychecks are generating the contributions that are helping to keep Social Security solvent.
4. Thou shalt not bear false witness about how thou spent thy day, trying to make it sound more productive or exciting. It is what it is. (Or was.)
5. Thou shalt not commit line dancing, no matter how itchy thy feet may get when the music starts. Thou might as well carry a huge placard that reads “Retiree with no life.”
6. Thou shalt not engage in competitions with fellow-retirees to see who can grow the biggest tomatoes (or squash, or sunflowers, or… thou gets the idea.)
7. Thou shalt not embarrass thy pets by dressing them up in cute little outfits to break up the monotony. If thou art bored in thy retirement, take thee up a hobby.
8. Thou shalt not crochet tacky tissue and toilet paper covers to give to thy friends. This is not what We had in mind when We said “hobby.” (See commandment #7.)
9. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s pension (or condo, or vegetable garden, or… thou gets the idea.) (See commandment # 6.)
10. Thou shalt not succumb to the temptations of the phish. (See post of January 15.) Thou dost not have a long lost uncle who became a missionary in Nigeria. Do not send his widow money, no matter how poignant her email may be. Tell her thou art on a fixed income with no discretionary spending. Thou shalt not be lying.
I could go on, but since the original came in a set of ten, it seems respectful to keep this list at ten as well.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Retirement Style - Getting a Taste
When my retirement was delayed, I had to reschedule several doctor’s appointments. One of those caught up with me today. I knew it would tie up several hours, since it involved various tests. Rather than change it again or claim sick time, I took a vacation day—I have more than three weeks to use up. This gave me the opportunity to get a taste of what it will be like when I’m retired (in less than two weeks.)
First off, I didn’t keep looking at my watch as I cooled my heels in the waiting area, wondering when I’d get back to my office. This gave me the presence of mind to ask all the important questions of my doctor about the various tests and their results. My calm must have rubbed off on him, because he answered them in detail with amazing patience.
When I booked my follow up visit several months out, I didn’t have to check my calendar, and I took an appointment late morning instead of the first one of the day. No worries about meeting conflicts this July for me. No problem taking a big chunk out of the middle of the day. I was just one big “whatever” as the scheduler tossed a date and time out to me.
Since I would have the afternoon free, my husband arranged coverage in his store so we could go to a movie together. I think it’s been about two years since we’ve gone to a movie, and never on a weekday.
We have to be careful about seeing movies too often. My husband’s birthday is January 1 and early in our marriage we celebrated by going to two movies in a 24-hour period. At three the next morning, he woke me, complaining of chest pains. Soon thereafter, the fire department was carrying him down the stairs from our bedroom. He’d had a heart attack. We figure it was just too much excitement for him.
Today we grabbed a quick lunch, ran a few small errands near the movie complex and proceeded to the theater. Turns out we hit the mother load of retirement benefits. Wednesday is Senior Day at this theater chain, with prices just $4.50 all day.
They even gave us discount tickets for the snack counter. For “just” $6 we could get popcorn and a small beverage. Since we’d recently had lunch and I brought my own bottle of water, I said a polite thank you and stuffed those in my pocket. I remember reading recently that the snack counter is where they make the money, and that older people spend very little there. Supposedly, that’s one of the reasons so few movies are produced that appeal to older tastes.
Newsflash: you’ll have to go a lot lower than $6 even on Super Senior Day to get us to buy popcorn (unless it comes with dental floss.) And soda is the last thing we want to drink when we’ll be sitting in a dark room with the prospect of climbing over people’s legs to reach the aisle (and eventually the bathroom.)
The movie was over around 6 PM. We came home, fed the cats and had a simple dinner together while we watched the national news. OK. I admit it. I microwaved two Marie Callender meals that were on special last weekend for $2 each. But the point is, we actually had an evening meal together.
It was a nice preview of what retirement could be like. Now I’m sitting here, writing my blog post, enjoying a nice glass of red wine. I think I can get used to this.
First off, I didn’t keep looking at my watch as I cooled my heels in the waiting area, wondering when I’d get back to my office. This gave me the presence of mind to ask all the important questions of my doctor about the various tests and their results. My calm must have rubbed off on him, because he answered them in detail with amazing patience.
When I booked my follow up visit several months out, I didn’t have to check my calendar, and I took an appointment late morning instead of the first one of the day. No worries about meeting conflicts this July for me. No problem taking a big chunk out of the middle of the day. I was just one big “whatever” as the scheduler tossed a date and time out to me.
Since I would have the afternoon free, my husband arranged coverage in his store so we could go to a movie together. I think it’s been about two years since we’ve gone to a movie, and never on a weekday.
We have to be careful about seeing movies too often. My husband’s birthday is January 1 and early in our marriage we celebrated by going to two movies in a 24-hour period. At three the next morning, he woke me, complaining of chest pains. Soon thereafter, the fire department was carrying him down the stairs from our bedroom. He’d had a heart attack. We figure it was just too much excitement for him.
Today we grabbed a quick lunch, ran a few small errands near the movie complex and proceeded to the theater. Turns out we hit the mother load of retirement benefits. Wednesday is Senior Day at this theater chain, with prices just $4.50 all day.
They even gave us discount tickets for the snack counter. For “just” $6 we could get popcorn and a small beverage. Since we’d recently had lunch and I brought my own bottle of water, I said a polite thank you and stuffed those in my pocket. I remember reading recently that the snack counter is where they make the money, and that older people spend very little there. Supposedly, that’s one of the reasons so few movies are produced that appeal to older tastes.
Newsflash: you’ll have to go a lot lower than $6 even on Super Senior Day to get us to buy popcorn (unless it comes with dental floss.) And soda is the last thing we want to drink when we’ll be sitting in a dark room with the prospect of climbing over people’s legs to reach the aisle (and eventually the bathroom.)
The movie was over around 6 PM. We came home, fed the cats and had a simple dinner together while we watched the national news. OK. I admit it. I microwaved two Marie Callender meals that were on special last weekend for $2 each. But the point is, we actually had an evening meal together.
It was a nice preview of what retirement could be like. Now I’m sitting here, writing my blog post, enjoying a nice glass of red wine. I think I can get used to this.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Retirement Complications - The Chinese Factor
Once again I find inspiration for my post in the Time magazine that arrived in today’s mail. Regular readers of RetirementSparks will have noticed more than an occasional reference to my enjoyment of a nice glass of wine. Preferably red.
There was also my New Year’s confession that I don’t really drink as much as I make it sound, but that I expect to have more opportunities to sit back with a glass of vino once I’m retired. I’ve even budgeted the added expense (partly under medical, you may recall.)
Now comes a wake up call that I may have to redo that budget yet again, and it’s all because of what I will call the “Chinese Factor.” It seems the Chinese have developed a taste for high-end red wines. According to Time, at a recent Sotheby’s auction, one bidder from China “paid $232,000 each for three bottles of 1869 Château Lafite Rothschild.”
I know what you’re thinking: Why should I care? It’s not like buying Château Lafite Rothschild is on my bucket list. Well, you’ll want to put a cork in it when you read this next item. At the same auction (held in Hong Kong) someone paid $70,000 for a case of 2009 Lafite, which hasn’t even been bottled yet. According to Time, the price represented about a 300% increase over the pre-auction estimate.
On its own, this news would not send me dashing to my retirement spreadsheet. Apparently, the Chinese yen for fine Bordeaux is driving up prices of those wines across the board (and around the world.) So the Lafite is bound to be just the tip of the wine bottle.
Though my preference is for Italian reds, I will not be lulled into a false sense of security. According to Time (or more correctly, Vinexpo, a trade show) Asian wine consumption is growing at four times the global average. You don’t get that type of growth without some experimentation (and trickle down.) That means price inflation will eventually hit other varieties. Once the Chinese taste a good Barolo, you can forget finding a decent one for under $100 a bottle.
If you hear the phrase “the wine bubble,” don’t think Asti Spumante, think dotcom. For my sake, and for other wine-loving retirees, we can only hope that Chinese bubble will burst soon, while wine prices are still where we can afford something other than Night Train. Or Auntie Em’s homemade sherry. Blech.
There was also my New Year’s confession that I don’t really drink as much as I make it sound, but that I expect to have more opportunities to sit back with a glass of vino once I’m retired. I’ve even budgeted the added expense (partly under medical, you may recall.)
Now comes a wake up call that I may have to redo that budget yet again, and it’s all because of what I will call the “Chinese Factor.” It seems the Chinese have developed a taste for high-end red wines. According to Time, at a recent Sotheby’s auction, one bidder from China “paid $232,000 each for three bottles of 1869 Château Lafite Rothschild.”
I know what you’re thinking: Why should I care? It’s not like buying Château Lafite Rothschild is on my bucket list. Well, you’ll want to put a cork in it when you read this next item. At the same auction (held in Hong Kong) someone paid $70,000 for a case of 2009 Lafite, which hasn’t even been bottled yet. According to Time, the price represented about a 300% increase over the pre-auction estimate.
On its own, this news would not send me dashing to my retirement spreadsheet. Apparently, the Chinese yen for fine Bordeaux is driving up prices of those wines across the board (and around the world.) So the Lafite is bound to be just the tip of the wine bottle.
Though my preference is for Italian reds, I will not be lulled into a false sense of security. According to Time (or more correctly, Vinexpo, a trade show) Asian wine consumption is growing at four times the global average. You don’t get that type of growth without some experimentation (and trickle down.) That means price inflation will eventually hit other varieties. Once the Chinese taste a good Barolo, you can forget finding a decent one for under $100 a bottle.
If you hear the phrase “the wine bubble,” don’t think Asti Spumante, think dotcom. For my sake, and for other wine-loving retirees, we can only hope that Chinese bubble will burst soon, while wine prices are still where we can afford something other than Night Train. Or Auntie Em’s homemade sherry. Blech.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Retirement Health – Speedy Methuselah
As my retirement draws closer, I’m wondering if my body is going to hold out until I finally stop working. It seems like each week, something else starts to ache, or stops functioning efficiently, if at all. For instance, my eye doctor suspects I’m developing glaucoma, which my mother had, putting me at risk. He has me seeing a specialist next week.
In the midst of my physical deterioration, however, I read something in Time magazine that gave me cause for celebration. The caption of the very short blurb read “The Speedy Live Longer.”
As you can imagine, this caught my attention. I adjusted my 3.25 magnifiers to be sure I could read the small print. (Note to self: after retirement, see if Time has a large print edition that I can subscribe to.) The item reported on a study of adults over 65. In other words, the sweet spot of RetirementSparks readership.
Participants who walked faster—and I quote here: “were 90% likelier to live at least 10 more years than those who walked at a pokier pace.” The theory is that how fast you walk indicates how well various body parts are functioning (heart, lungs, joints and muscles, to be specific.) The better those work, the longer you live.
This was wonderful news for me, because I’ve always been a fast walker. Though I don’t walk as much now as I should, I plan to walk more once I stop working. And though I certainly walk a bit more slowly now than I did five years ago, it’s still a relatively fast pace.
There are three very specific reasons why I’m so speedy. The first is that I’m short. I’ve always been short, and like many of you (I suspect), I’m getting a little shorter each year. In order to keep up with my walking partners over the years (and there’ve been quite a few), I had to take more steps to cover the same ground. That means I’ve always had to walk faster than they did.
The second reason is that I’m chronically late. That means that I’m always rushing to get wherever I’m going. This of course means that the portion of the trip that’s on foot requires an extremely brisk walk, and sometimes even a run. I’m so used to walking at this pace, that it rarely occurs to me that I might be able to walk more slowly on occasion.
The third has a lot to do with the fact that I worked in Manhattan for 20 years, for most of which I commuted in from New Jersey. That involved walking from the Port Authority bus terminal to Park and 50th (opposite the Waldorf) and back almost every day. Put that together with my chronic tardiness, and you can quickly figure out that I spent a lot of time jogging across town to catch my bus (or make it to a morning meeting.)
Walking fast on that route was essential for reasons beyond saving time. I passed through some dicey areas along the way—areas where people had been mugged on more than one occasion. I had decided that if I walked briskly and with purpose, the muggers would think: “Not a tourist. Probably will fight back. Not worth the trouble. I’m gonna look for an easier mark; plenty of them to be found.” You’d never find me gawking at store windows or staring up at the tops of the buildings I was passing, no matter how interesting the architecture.
As a side note, my co-workers used to tell me that the normal expression on my face was halfway between neutral and negative. I imagine that the impression I gave would-be muggers was that I was a woman on a mission, not someone to be trifled with.
Little did I know that my vertically challenged stature, my bad habits and my less-than-sociable demeanor would wind up adding ten years to my life. I need to be sure I don’t lose ground once I retire. That means finding walking partners who can keep up with me, preferably ones that don’t expect me to smile.
Don’t all rush to sign up at once…
In the midst of my physical deterioration, however, I read something in Time magazine that gave me cause for celebration. The caption of the very short blurb read “The Speedy Live Longer.”
As you can imagine, this caught my attention. I adjusted my 3.25 magnifiers to be sure I could read the small print. (Note to self: after retirement, see if Time has a large print edition that I can subscribe to.) The item reported on a study of adults over 65. In other words, the sweet spot of RetirementSparks readership.
Participants who walked faster—and I quote here: “were 90% likelier to live at least 10 more years than those who walked at a pokier pace.” The theory is that how fast you walk indicates how well various body parts are functioning (heart, lungs, joints and muscles, to be specific.) The better those work, the longer you live.
This was wonderful news for me, because I’ve always been a fast walker. Though I don’t walk as much now as I should, I plan to walk more once I stop working. And though I certainly walk a bit more slowly now than I did five years ago, it’s still a relatively fast pace.
There are three very specific reasons why I’m so speedy. The first is that I’m short. I’ve always been short, and like many of you (I suspect), I’m getting a little shorter each year. In order to keep up with my walking partners over the years (and there’ve been quite a few), I had to take more steps to cover the same ground. That means I’ve always had to walk faster than they did.
The second reason is that I’m chronically late. That means that I’m always rushing to get wherever I’m going. This of course means that the portion of the trip that’s on foot requires an extremely brisk walk, and sometimes even a run. I’m so used to walking at this pace, that it rarely occurs to me that I might be able to walk more slowly on occasion.
The third has a lot to do with the fact that I worked in Manhattan for 20 years, for most of which I commuted in from New Jersey. That involved walking from the Port Authority bus terminal to Park and 50th (opposite the Waldorf) and back almost every day. Put that together with my chronic tardiness, and you can quickly figure out that I spent a lot of time jogging across town to catch my bus (or make it to a morning meeting.)
Walking fast on that route was essential for reasons beyond saving time. I passed through some dicey areas along the way—areas where people had been mugged on more than one occasion. I had decided that if I walked briskly and with purpose, the muggers would think: “Not a tourist. Probably will fight back. Not worth the trouble. I’m gonna look for an easier mark; plenty of them to be found.” You’d never find me gawking at store windows or staring up at the tops of the buildings I was passing, no matter how interesting the architecture.
As a side note, my co-workers used to tell me that the normal expression on my face was halfway between neutral and negative. I imagine that the impression I gave would-be muggers was that I was a woman on a mission, not someone to be trifled with.
Little did I know that my vertically challenged stature, my bad habits and my less-than-sociable demeanor would wind up adding ten years to my life. I need to be sure I don’t lose ground once I retire. That means finding walking partners who can keep up with me, preferably ones that don’t expect me to smile.
Don’t all rush to sign up at once…
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