Retirement Updates — Fairy Tales for Retirees

One of the latest trends in movies and TV shows is the fairy tale theme. Julia Roberts’ latest movie, Mirror Mirror, is a black comedy built around the tale of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Roberts plays the evil queen. The movie comes on the heels of two new TV programs that similarly recast fairy tales.

The TV drama Grimm, inspired by the children’s tales of that name, pits the descendants from a line of criminal profilers, aka Grimms, against “the mythological creatures of the world.” In Once Upon A Time, the evil queen banishes her underlings to the parallel world of Storybrooke, Maine. Here Snow White and Prince Charming’s offspring try to break the curse as 21^st century bail bondsmen. Charming indeed.

I’ve uncovered the plot summaries for beloved fairy tales that are being reworked to appeal to retirees. You should recognize most, if not all of them, despite the age-appropriate twists.

Snow White and the Seven Grandchildren

In this story, a grandmother’s beautiful raven hair turns white overnight from the stress of caring for her seven grandchildren all at once. The kids are Happy, Bashful (grandma’s secret favorite), Sneezy (who has severe allergies), Sleepy, Dopey (hopefully just a late bloomer), Grumpy (oh, wait—that’s grandpa), and teenagers Texty and Duh. Much as she loves her seven dwarfs, er, grandchildren, she struggles to maintain her patience in this emotional retelling of a classic.

Jack and the Bean Salad

This cautionary tale features retiree, Jack, who loves to garden. He’s famous for his secret bean salad casserole that he brings to neighborhood pot luck suppers. Close inspection reveals that he includes snap peas and quinoa in his recipe, but that earns him points for creativity. All is well until a snoopy sorehead goes dumpster diving in Jack’s trash. There he uncovers empty bean cans with the familiar Green Giant label.

When confronted, Jack hikes up his SansABelts ‘til his tube socks are peeking out from his walking shoes and insists he’s being framed. Finally, he’s forced to admit that his beans are, indeed, store bought. The real “secret ingredient” in his bean salad? Good old Kentucky sour mash.

Goldilocks and the Three IRAs

In this beloved classic, soon-to-be-retiree Goldilocks dabbles in a variety of IRAs to see which will turn her small investment pot into a really big one at the end of her retirement rainbow. The trick is to find the one that’s “just right” for her.

The aggressive growth equity fund requires a starting infusion that’s too big for her meager assets. Next she tries a fixed income IRA, but the return it delivers is too small for her needs. Finally, she discovers an investment that’s “just right.” It’s a balanced fund—stocks and bonds—that welcomes investors of her size and delivers… well, balanced results. At last she can sleep peacefully.

Puss in Go Go Boots

For her entire life, Katherine “Kitty” La Fleur has had the same coif and just one job. Her hair is highly-teased platinum blonde and she works the counter at the local diner. Kitty also wears the same footwear, day in and day out. She is never without her white patent leather go go boots. It isn’t that she ignores fashion. She gave up over-sized hoop earrings for trendy new dangly feathers, after all. Something else keeps Kitty in her go go boots. It’s the song playing in her head. “Dance to the music…”

Little Red Riding Scooter

Romy always wanted a red convertible. Her life was such that each time she needed a new car, a convertible just wasn’t an option. When she retired, she decided to realize her dream. First she bought a beautiful red riding cloak. Then she bought a bright red Hoveround power scooter. Not just any Hoveround. Romy bought the Bolero 4-wheel heavy-duty with the deluxe, 360-degree swivel captain’s seat.

The Bolero also came with dual rear-view mirrors “for added safety.” Sadly Romy didn’t quite know how to use them. She had the Bolero for less than a week when she backed at full speed through a neighbor’s flower garden right into the woods. The neighbors followed the tire tracks, but when they finally reached the Bolero, Romy was nowhere in sight. All they found were claw marks and tufts of gray fur on the shredded leather seat. So sad.

I think you’ll agree that these fairy tales for retirees give us a whole new perspective on Golden Books. A boxed set of the scripts is planned for the holidays, but don’t expect to find it in the children’s section. Aren’t you glad you finally have some time to read?

Retirement Tools — Tattoos At Your Service

One thing I’ve noticed since I’ve retired—my hearing isn’t what it used to be. It’s probably just the normal decline that comes with age. But the fact that I don’t have as much need to pay attention may be a contributing factor. Either way, an announcement this week by Nokia, the Finnish phone people, caught my eye (if not my ear).

Nokia has patented the technology for a vibrating tattoo. The abstract describes an apparatus with “a material attachable to the skin, the material capable of detecting a magnetic field and transferring a perceivable stimulus to the skin…” It further states that “the material comprises at least one visible image, invisible image, invisible tattoo, visible tattoo…” yada, yada yada. In other words, maybe you see it; maybe you don’t. I won’t bore you with more excerpts from the 21 claims in the abstract.

The device is intended to let you know when your phone is ringing. Assumedly, the phone is on mute and is not in your butt pocket. The vibrations can be tailored so that different callers tickle you differently, and you can customize them much like you can ringtones. So, your spouse might generate an insistent, nagging vibration, while your grandchildren might make you laugh when you feel them calling.

The tattoo can be installed anywhere you want it. I believe you can have multiple designs stuck on you, set to vibrate differently for various incoming calls. You might want to position the tattoo for frequent callers someplace pleasurable. Likewise, calls you’d just as soon ignore could be slapped someplace where the sun doesn’t shine. Although, if you’re planning on ignoring those calls, meaning they’ll just keep vibrating, you might want to put that tattoo someplace that feels good.

While the intention is for the user to get an actual tattoo, the patent provides for less invasive applications of the ferromagnetic ink. I can see pros and cons for both methods of attachment. I wouldn’t have to worry about a tattoo falling off. On the other hand (perhaps quite literally), as my skin loses elasticity, a tattoo might not function exactly as intended. Have you ever seen the ink on a granny biker babe?

Based on my own experience, Nokia’s device has enormous potential. I’m often compelled to sleep with earplugs because of my husband’s snoring. They’re so effective that sometimes he has to shake me to wake me up. It would be great to be alerted that my phone is ringing even when I’m blissfully plugged.

Of course, I would then need to find the phone. The good news is that claim 14 in the abstract suggests that the tattoo could provide an “indication of a body part in proximity of the electronic device.” I assume that means that as I walk closer to where the phone is, my tat will vibrate more insistently, causing me to cry out: “I’m getting warm!” Or better yet: “I am so hot!”

I see all sorts of other uses that could excite retirees. How about letting us program our shopping list into a computer that’s synced to the tattoo. As we push our carts around the store, the tat could vibrate when we’re in front of something on our list. We could even set it to vibrate differently for things on sale. I’d certainly want to be alerted when Pepperidge Farm Milano Cookies were calling me. With my luck, it would direct me to avoid things my doctor would prefer I didn’t have in my cart.

Speaking of doctors, if Nokia ties this into a calendar application, they could jiggle us when we have a doctor’s appointment. Or a prescription ready for pick up. Or any meetings or events to attend. The possibilities for tattoo jiggling are mind boggling.

A vibrating tattoo could be as good as having a personal assistant! And you wouldn’t have to buy it flowers on what used to be called Secretary’s Day. (I just Googled this. It’s now called Administrative Professionals Day and it’s April 25 this year.)

Yes, dear readers. Nokia’s vibrating tattoo is something we should all look forward to having installed, whether inked, stamped or taped. With the right art, it could be a great conversation starter.

Or ender. “Sorry. Gotta run. My navel’s vibrating.” Oh, yeah.

Retirement Issues — The New Crazy

The psychiatrists’ bible for diagnosing mental illness is the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM), which came out in 1952. A revision is issued every twelve to twenty years. A new one is coming next year, and apparently it’s a doozy. Time claims: “It will literally redefine what is normal.”

As a service to my fellow retirees, I’ve looked into the behaviors that will now be considered abnormal. There may be 50 ways to leave your lover, but according to the new DSM, there are 350 ways to say you’re crazy. That means 350 diagnoses for which your psychiatrist can bill your insurance company.

The first thing to watch out for is an “irritable mood.” If you’re in one for more than a week and it can’t be explained by a medical condition or by drugs you’re taking, you could be diagnosed as manic or depressive. I don’t know about you, but I’ve reached a point in life where there’s not much that doesn’t irritate me. They should just stamp “subject to irritable moods” on my driver’s license.

A trip to the supermarket can leave me cranky for days. It might be the way they bagged the order. (How hard can it be to put the cans under the things that go squish?) Or maybe they forgot to ask for my coupons (and in a senior moment I forgot to present them). And it’s Katy bar the door if I didn’t get my senior discount! I’ll be called manic as sure as there’s little green apples.

Another condition to be careful of is “loss of interest.” Once again, duh! After 66 years as a type A personality, how long do they really think I can stay interested in anything that isn’t dipped in chocolate or poured from a wine bottle? According to the new DSM, if I don’t find something that tickles my fancy within a two-week period, I could be sucked into a “major depressive episode.”

Oh, lordy, I’m doomed. Binge eating (now a disorder) will be defined as “eating until feeling uncomfortably full.” My mother made us clean our plates at each meal. “Think of the starving children in China.” I always eat until I’m feeling uncomfortably full. How else are you supposed to know when to stop? It’s kind of like drinking wine until you have a pleasant buzz on.

I will spare you the details of Internet addiction, sex addiction and female orgasmic disorder. I’m doing this under the assumption that those problems are of more interest to a younger audience. Or at least that your psychiatrist will assume that they are, so you won’t need to address a diagnosis for any of them.

Many DSM diagnoses are psychoses or neuroses—disorders and episodes. Retirees are more prone to phobias. Actually, retirees tend to be more prone, period, which makes those sessions on the couch a lot easier. My research has uncovered both disorders and phobias for retirees that the new DSM missed.

Do you frequently not know if you’re coming or going? If this occurs more than twice a day or lasts more than ten minutes, you suffer from Bi-directional Disorder. Other signs you have this are not remembering if you were going up or down the stairs or in or out of a room. Likewise if you find yourself standing in front of the refrigerator or a cupboard, door in hand, wondering if you were opening it or closing it. 

A problem that eventually occurs in retirement is Ambivalent Disorder. Sure signs are when a former colleague who is still working describes some office crisis and you realize you simply don’t give a fig. Psychiatrists haven’t yet decided whether to treat this disorder or to celebrate it.

Moving on to retirees’ phobias. You’re likely familiar with two fears related to answering phones in the evening. Robophobia—or as I like to call it, RoboFobo—is the fear of getting one of those automatic sales calls in the middle of dinner. Even worse is Croakaphobia, which sadly becomes more common as we move through retirement. That’s the fear of getting the call that some family member or dear friend has passed away.

The constellation of movement phobias is prevalent in retirees. Klutzaphobia is the fear of bumping into things. Closely related is Stumblaphobia, the fear of tripping over something. When it becomes extreme, it morphs into Tumblaphobia, the fear of falling down.

These disorders and phobias are of major concern to retirees. If we lobby via AARP, we may still be able to get them included in the upcoming revised DRM. If we to have to wait another twelve years for Medicare coverage, we could need more than medication to deal with them. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Wine anyone?

Retirement Planning — Final Arrangements

My husband and I stumbled into a conversation about final arrangements at bedtime one recent night. “Are you awake?” he asked. This is a question I know should be answered with silence if I have any hope of falling asleep soon. One of the many things predictable about Jagdish is that bedtime is when he launches into his most convoluted discussions. Ones that compel me to try to unravel them, searching for some thin thread of logic, usually in vain.

On this particular night, I foolishly admitted to still being awake. He then informed me that the man who “takes care of” bodies donated to Brown University’s medical school stopped in his store that day. It seems he’s a fairly regular customer. Those who have met Jagdish will know that “regular customer” means someone who visits the “ashram” to ruminate, philosophize and discuss the most arcane topics.

Apparently they had a lengthy talk about how one donates one’s body. In my semi-stupor, I wasn’t clear on the impetus for their conversation. With Jagdish, one never knows how he gets from point A to point B in a discussion, never mind to points further down in the alphabet.

In any case, I was soon almost awake, trying to process the many details he was providing despite little encouragement from me. The first of these was that he wants his body donated to science. Another was that Brown won’t come get your body if you’re more than 45 miles away when you die. Also that the body has to be in Brown’s hands within a certain time of death.

We’re downsizing to Vermont, putting us out of range for a free pickup and quite likely beyond Brown’s “freshness window” as well. While Jagdish could donate his body to the University of Vermont medical school, Brown is his preferred recipient. Because he’s lived in Rhode Island since the early sixties, he considers it to be his home. This was clearly causing him some concern.

By now I was awake enough to sound as though I was thinking logically, but still groggy enough to be in one of my irreverently creative states. “Don’t worry, honey, “ said I. “If you croak in Vermont, I’ll prop you up and put you on a bus to Boston. They won’t know you’re gone until they arrive, so the death certificate will show that you’re within Brown’s zone and freshness requirements.” We both laughed. “You’ll be like Dustin Hoffman as “Ratso” Rizzo in Midnight Cowboy.”

Then I got worse. “I’ll get you a ticket on one of those Mega busses. That will save me lots of money.” The Megabus is what Jagdish takes to New York City on buying trips. The cost is about a fourth what the major lines charge. They’re available only between selected locations, but we’ve already determined that they travel from Burlington to Boston. Brown picks up stiffs in Boston, so that solves his problem.

I asked him what they’d do with his body when they’re done with it. He said he thought they would cremate it. I opined that there might not be much left to cremate, if they took him apart to study piece by piece. I told him about a recent exposé on the remains of some soldiers and 911 victims showing up in unthinkable places. “Maybe they’ll dump your leftover parts into a land fill. I can just picture one of your feet sticking out of a pile of rubbish…”

Jagdish was quite certain he would be cremated. I asked: “Will I have to take your ashes to India to scatter them in the Ganges?” He assured me I would not, so I considered this a real plus for Brown’s medical school. The next day I decided to do some research on exactly what is involved in donating one’s body to Brown. Turns out it’s not that simple.

In addition to the distance and time restrictions, the medical school can decline the donation if your remains “are deemed unsuitable for educational purposes.” That covers some pretty broad territory. Unless Jagdish and I really get on one another’s nerves after we relocate, we’re not likely to have evidence of “extensive trauma at the time of death,” so we should pass that hurdle.

On the other hand, “extreme obesity or malnutrition,” could be deal breakers. I’m bordering on the former and getting chubbier each year, not to mention the possibility of a liver marinated in fine wine. Jagdish’s recent blood work shows he’s anemic and just a few Mexican fast food meals away from being malnourished.

Oh yes, I can see it now. Brown turns away bodies of alumna and spouse. Neither was deemed “suitable.” Let’s hope Vermont’s medical school won’t be as picky.

Retirement Issues — Bounties on Retirees

Yet another scandal has been unmasked in the world of sports. Turns out the Super Bowl winning New Orleans Saints have a bounty system that rewards inflicting serious injuries on their opponents. This flies in the face of league management, which has been actively discouraging such behavior.

For those who haven’t caught the details of this latest exposé, here’s a summary. The Saints’ bounty system paid their defensive players $1,000 if they injured an opponent badly enough for him to be taken off the field. If that player had to leave the game altogether, the reward was $1,500. No word on whether an injury time out that benefited the Saints gained bonus money.

At its height, the pool, which was funded by the defensive players and at least one administrator, reached as much as $50,000. Supposedly, one high profile quarterback had a $10,000 price tag on his head were he to be conked out of the conference championship game. The Saints even have a name for these hits: “Remember Me” shots.

Some of you may have your mouths agape upon reading this, but here’s an even bigger newsflash. My crack investigative reporting has uncovered a far more sinister plot involving a bounty system on retirees. The funders are orthopedic surgeons, chiropractors, physical therapists and GPs that specialize in geriatrics.

Best as I can tell, they go after retirement communities that are known to have feuds percolating among the residents. Prime targets are developments where elections of board members are particularly contentious or where recently proposed changes to the condo regulations created internal factions. The bounties are generous enough to motivate someone on a fixed income to commit mayhem.

While the sports injuries of greatest concern are ones to the head and neck, the retiree injuries that gain special recognition are broken hips and sprained backs. The typical bounty for breaking your neighbor’s hip is reportedly $2,000, while a back sprain can earn you $1,500 in some parts of the country. Lesser injuries such as severe bruises and gashes requiring at least six stitches command bounties of $100 and up. Some funders offer volume bonuses on the business sent their way.

It’s rumored that car services are getting into the act with payments for any injury that will have the recipient unable to drive for at least three months. You can imagine who might join the program next. Grocery delivery companies. Cleaning services. Anyone willing to make house calls. A policeman from Burlington, Vermont said the trend is getting out of control up there. “In a word, it’s ugly,” he told me via phone interview.

South Burlington, which goes by the moniker Chittenden Condo Central, has seen dramatic increases in injury reports tied to bounty payments. Most retirees are familiar with the battle cries “Remember the Alamo” and “Remember the Maine.” Golf-club-wielding pensioners in search of bounty prey are running amok in the Vermont National Country Club area, thwacking their condo neighbors and shouting: “Remember Me.”

One enterprising retiree has a thriving business selling T-shirts emblazoned with those two spine-chilling words. Another has begun offering protection insurance to his neighbors. His clients pay him; he pays off the ruffians to leave them alone. Unfortunately, he’s now in a bidding war with those paying the bounties. Oh yes, it’s getting ugly.

And you know that when it gets ugly, there’s only one thing to do. Find a comfortable chair. Pick out a good book (or pick up the remote). And of course, pour yourself a nice, big glass of vino.

Santé!

You might also want to watch your back.