Retirement Reflections — Giving Thanks 2012

Though this holiday season finds me still sad at the loss of my beloved Lily Magnolia, I’m nonetheless grateful for the many blessings in my life. Thanksgiving is a time when I typically post reflections on things for which I’m grateful. This year’s list:

·      Friends and family who are upbeat and positive and a pleasure to be around, especially ones who are “glass overflowing”—even more optimistic than “glass half full.” (Jagdish’s store motto is “Home of the overflowing glass.”)

·      Friends who share their joy on Facebook, both in pictures and in words. (A special shout out to Ann Stokes Neff and Christine Sweeten Tourso.)

·      The relatively good health that Jagdish and I have enjoyed this year; no trips to the ER, no hospitalizations—a rarity for us!

·      A relaxing holiday drive up to Vermont and back, with no traffic jams, no accidents and as always, beautiful scenery along the way.

·      Grandnieces and a grandnephew who are growing into wonderful young people; they’ll probably be my height by next Thanksgiving.

·      Luke being so happy to see me when we returned from Vermont. He slept with me Friday night and was perched on top of me in the morning.

·      Another year to enjoy our house since we didn’t sell it again this year, and especially the prospect of another Christmas here.

·      Having the discipline to publish two books in about twelve months, with the third one targeted to be out by the end of this year.

·      Looking forward to the adventure of “retirement” with Jagdish and getting to spend more time together.

·      The little, independent local shops that make our communities special (like Spectrum-India and Books-on-the-Square). Today is Small Business Saturday. Shop local!

I’m grateful for many other things, but a list of ten seems to have become a tradition. I hope you all enjoyed your Thanksgiving and that you join me in embracing an “overflowing glass” perspective on your own life this year.

Retirement Tools — Passwords for Seniors

SplashData annually releases a list of passwords that hackers consider the worst (which means the easiest for them to crack). “Password" and "123456” once again top this year’s list. Other returning entries are (sing along now) “abc123,” qwerty (just look at your keyboard) and monkey (no clue on that one). New ones include "welcome," which is apparently the default password for many operating systems when first installed.

Other passwords that are easy to crack are the names of your children and pets. Obviously, these vary by user. However, as a tribute to the popularity of certain names, two that once again made the national 25 “worst” list are Ashley and Michael. Jesus was a newcomer this year, as was ninja. Don’t look at me; I just report the news.

I’ve done research on common, but bad, choices in passwords for seniors. Not surprisingly, these include gramps, granny, nana, pops, bubbie, mima, nono and a litany of other words that mean grandmother or grandfather in a foreign language. Coming on fast is abuela, reflecting the growth in our Hispanic population. Likewise bad choices are the names of your grandchildren. Grandparents apparently practice generation-skipping, preferring to ignore their own offspring and to go straight to the names of their grandkids.

Other common and easily divined passwords among seniors are popular terms like Medicare, SocialSecurity, and Annuity. Likewise senior life tools such as walker, hearingaid and dentures; and such senior lifestyle aspirations as goldenyears, condo, timeshare and downsize. None are good choices if you want to secure your computer files, folks.

Password experts recommend that we include numbers along with letters, but I’ve found this to be a tad inconvenient. Numbers I’d go to first are too easy for hackers to figure out. Others are moving targets. Take for instance the age to collect Social Security. We can do this as early as 62. When I first started working, full retirement age was 65. By the time I reached retirement, it was 66. A password with this in mind could wind up being “SS62wait65no66.” True, no hacker is likely to come up with it, but then neither would I when I needed it.

SplashData recommends we think in terms of “passphrases” instead of passwords. That is, multiple words strung together, preferably separated by hyphens or other punctuation. An example they give is “dog-eats-bone.” I’m adding to that suggestion using words that are easy to remember for us, but not as easy for a hacker to divine (or, in many cases, to spell). The trick is to come up with passwords that no hacker is likely to stumble upon accidentally, but that are part of your own everyday life.

Here are some examples to consider. In the “guaranteed to stump a hacker’s spellcheck” vein: presbyopia, cholesterol, hypertension, osteoporosis, roughage, hemorrhoids and bunionectomy. These are all words that are familiar to those over 65, therefore easy for us to remember. I’m still working on how to provide us with secret clues to their correct spelling. Feel free to send me your suggestions.

Passwords that come out of our retirement experiences are also good choices, especially ones that remind us of the more stressful aspects of senior living. Some examples here are (and you’ll notice I’m following SplashData’s recommendation to use hyphens): pension-fraud, irrevocable-trust, not-so-longterm-care, and yes, generation-skipping.

The women among my readers may want to consider such easy-to-remember phrases as daftoldbat, goathair, liverspots and canthookmybra. Or daft-old-bat, goat-hair, liver-spots and Can’t-hook-my-bra, if you want to be really secure. Male readers can choose among curmudgeon, fart-machine, What-me-shave? (remember Alfred E. Newman?) and drools-when-eating. All gloriously evocative, yet highly secure.

I hope this post on senior passwords has provided useful information that will help you come up with more secure choices for your own computer needs. If you’re having trouble remembering your more secure password, there’s always those failsafe fallbacks: “Can’t-remember-my-password” and “Where-the-heck-did-I-write-it-down?” Note the use of apostrophe in one and question mark in the other—great foils for would-be hackers. Be sure to take note of where they are on your QWERTY keyboard.

Final Goodbyes — Lily Magnolia

Forewarned that today’s post is a sad one, with not an ounce of humor in it. This week we said our final goodbyes to our little “girl,” Lily Magnolia. Lily was 15 1/2, and we had hoped to have her for several more years. We lost her twin sister, Pansy Gardenia, about two years ago, so I suppose it should not have come as a surprise that Lily would likewise leave us too soon.

This is the fourth time I’ve had to take one of my “girls” to the vet for euthanasia. First was Daisy Hyacinth (age 19 1/2,), then her sister, Tulip Wisteria (age 20 1/2), both of whom had come to Rhode Island with me from New Jersey. (In the space of less than two years, I lost Daisy, my mother and Tulip.) Many years later, it was Pansy Gardenia (age just 13 1/2), Lily Magnolia’s twin, who made that final journey to the vet. For me, these decisions were worse than dealing with my cancer.

I’m reminded of when my father took our elderly Beagle, Cindy, to be euthanized. I think I was in seventh grade at the time. He didn’t tell the family what was happening; he just left quietly with her early one morning and came back without her some hours later.

When he told us about her cancer and what he had done, I was angry. “You didn’t give us the chance to say goodbye to her,” I wailed. Looking back, I realize that he was sparing us the pain of goodbye. I wish I could tell him how grateful I am now for his strength back then, how much I appreciate what he did for us, and for Cindy.

Lily had been more of her father’s little girl, as Pansy “owned” me. But once Pansy was gone, and especially after I retired a year and a half ago and spent so much time at home, Lily became my little girl, too. She would keep me company when I was on either of my computers, on a wool shawl at the back of the desk, or on a pillow on the antique high chair that I set up near me, especially for her.

Lily was the only one of our cats (five in all, with just Luke still with us) who was friendly to strangers. Everyone commented on how pretty she was, and how sweet. Even at her senior age, people said she looked like a kitten. She fancied herself a supervisor of any workmen who had projects in our house, and was especially curious about drop cloths and toolboxes.

About two or three weeks ago, Lily started to have trouble with her back legs. After various examinations, tests, procedures and medications, the vet ruled out anything that was easily treatable. We’ll never know for certain what took her from us, but the most likely answer was either spinal lymphoma or a saddle thrombus (blood clot that blocked the flow to her legs).

We had put Daisy and Tulip through treatments that didn’t really give them quality time in the extra months we had with them. We decided long ago that we wouldn’t subject Pansy, Lily and Luke to extreme measures just to give us more time to have the courage to make a decision that was inevitable. X-rays and blood work we’d do for certain; but no chemotherapy; no hospitalizations; no surgeries.

We made Lily as comfortable as possible for the two weeks when we went through several tests and tried various medications, and I struggled to get the strength to make the decision I knew had to be made. For a few days, we had some hope that she might rally enough to be with us for a few more months, or even just a few more weeks. By Monday night, it was clear that was not to be.

I spent Tuesday morning saying my final goodbyes and we took her in that afternoon to send her to the Rainbow Bridge, where I know that Pansy was waiting for her.

Luke seems confused about what has happened to his remaining sister. I know he’ll provide some comfort to me. He’s his mommy’s boy and often sleeps near me. But he’s never been interested in what I do all day long in my office. It’s ironic that the cat we rescued from a neighbor that had left him to fend for himself outdoors would live longer than his mostly-indoor sisters of his same age. I’m grateful to have him, but he is not Lily Magnolia.

There was only one Lily. There will ever be only one Lily.

Kisses to you, my beautiful girl. I miss you. I love you. I’m sorry I could not save you.

Retirement Updates — The K-Series of Life

I remember when Chrysler announced its new platform, the K-Car, in the early 1980s. It was hailed as a major innovation in automobile design—a fuel-efficient 4-cylinder, front-wheel-drive vehicle. My father was proud to be one of the first K-Car owners and he had worked at a subsidiary of General Motors for much of his life.

More recently, we’ve seen the proliferation of innovative K-Cups. Not the bra size (though that does seem to be booming, too); the little pods of coffee or tea that pop into the Keurig brewing systems. They started out in offices; now you can buy Starbucks and Dunkin’ in K-Cups to brew at home.

As my retirement moves well into its second year, I seem to be developing a K-Body. This occurred to me when I was doing my morning floor exercises a few weeks ago. I’ve become extremely KinKy. Wipe off that smirk; I mean in my joints, especially my necK. Likewise my Knees, which are Knobbier than ever. Every part of my body feels KreaKy and KlunKy. While I’ve always been Klutzy, I’m getting Klutzier as the years pass.

The irony of this is that when your body gets less flexible, your mind and spirit need to be more flexible, but mine are going the other way. I’m getting more set in my ways. Yes, dear readers, I’ve entered the K-Series of my life. I’m KranKy and Krotchety and woe to anyone who crosses me when I’ve been deprived of my afternoon nap.

The good news (depending on ones point of view) is that I’m as KooKy and KwirKy as when I was younger, perhaps even more so. The not-so-good news, truth be told, is that most days I’m also more un-Kempt. All TMI, perhaps, but Knowledge is power.

My husband and I have always been big believers in positive Karma, but it’s hard to project that when I’m feeling KranKy, Krotchety and un-Kempt. In my condition, I’m more likely to start a Kerfuffle. This last sentence makes very little sense, but I love the word “Kerfuffle” and it starts with the operative letter for this post. My closest friends would probably say that I’m still KicKass. I’d like to think so.

I could go on all day, but I’ve already driven away most of you. So, before those of you still with me start shouting: “Release the KraKen,” I’ll say my goodbyes. My adieus. My ta-tas. I just wish there were a synonym that started with “K.”