Retirement Musings — Year End 2012

As 2012 comes to a close, I find myself waxing philosophical about a lot of things. Most of them have to do with the year’s presidential election and the divisiveness that prevails in our country. It’s led me to rethink the qualities Jagdish and I should be looking for in a retirement community. As you might expect, that means this post will not be as humorous as you’re used to seeing.

I often joke that the first thing I’d look for in a place to retire is whether or not they have a Whole Foods in town. This is not because I do so much of my shopping there, though I wish I could afford to. I have to be very selective about what I put into my recycled tote bag when I go to Whole Foods, or I’d breeze through my entire week’s budget in a half hour.

No, the reason I put Whole Foods on our retirement radar is because I assume that the company does a careful study of demographics and psychographics before it selects a location for one of its stores. I likewise assume that Jagdish and I will have a lot in common with the shoppers who fit their profile. They’ll probably share a lot of my values and aspirations and political leanings (or lack thereof). I hope they’d also share many of my interests and be our intellectual equals—or even superiors!

As the results of this year’s election came in, particularly regarding the passage of referenda in certain states, it occurred to me that I should add another criterion. No, it’s not that marijuana has been legalized. Hard though it may be for all of you to believe, I’ve never sucked on a toke, much less inhaled. I wouldn’t rule out the use of medical marijuana in my future, though, if I live long enough and develop aches and pains that are worthy of losing my weed virginity.

I’m referring to the fact that several states passed marriage equality laws. I’d like to see us retire to a community that is supportive of same sex marriage. That’s because I assume that such a community would have a broad respect for diversity, and that’s something that’s important to me. I imagine Jagdish and I would get along well with folks in a place like that.

This brings me to a wider list of search criteria that I’ve decided to include as we get closer to actually moving out of Rhode Island (or not, given the local real estate market). These terms come to mind as I look back on the presidential election. They represent a lot of what was missing in the dialogue, and much of what was far too pervasive (especially on Facebook).

I want to live where there’s a prevailing spirit of optimism, where there’s an attitude of civility and neighborliness. I’m looking for townsfolk who operate out of respect for others and for differences of opinion, and especially, out of respect for diversity in all its forms.

I don’t want to live out my twilight years in a place where there’s an air of paranoia. Keep me away from neighbors who are egotistical, arrogant or rude, and whose moral compass has a true North labeled “bigotry.”

Google me somewhere that welcomes spirited disagreement. Somewhere that decries the attitude that anyone who doesn’t share your point of view is stupid (even if they are) or will go straight to hell. (At least give them the chance to spend some time in limbo to redeem themselves.) It would be an extra benefit to live where folks know the difference between “you’re” and “your,” by the way.

If this past year is any indication, it could be a long, long time before I find our Shangri-La.

Happy New Year to all, however you’re going to celebrate! Wishing you and your loved ones a civil and respectful 2013. Salute!

Retirement Musings — Mayan Math and Leap Year

If you’re reading this, we’ve survived the end of days supposedly predicted by the Mayan calendar. I say supposedly because experts on the Mayans claim those ancients never did say December 21 would be the earth’s last day. Scholars believe they got tired of keeping a calendar that went that far into the future and just said: “Enough already.”

This is not surprising, considering that their calendars were chiseled into stone. My own theory is that they miscalculated how much space they would need and simply ran out of room when they reached 2012. I can picture their master calendar chiseler saying: “No way I’m starting over with a bigger stone. I’m outta here.”

Being a big proponent of “Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me,” I never put much stock in the December 21 end-of-days date anyway. You may recall the Biblical prophesy of the apocalypse that was supposed to happen on May 21, 2011. Or, more accurately, the rapture was to occur on May 21. Those not “chosen” were to have gradually died off from May 21 through October 21, 2011.

What is it about the 21^st of the month anyway?  Lots of folks who are superstitious are wary of any 13^th that falls on a Friday. The Romans worried about the ides (the 15^th), with good cause. That’s when Cassius, with his lean and hungry look, offed Caesar one auspicious March. But the 21^st?

Google provided a lot of New Age blather about spiritual meanings of the numbers 2 and 1 in combination. Something to do with ratios, the principle of individuality and cosmic differentiation; or alternatively, vibrations and energy and resonance. It’s also what you get when you multiply 3 times 7, both of which numbers have significance in numerology.

Another analysis of the number 21 notes that it combines the 7 days it took to create the earth with the number 3, which in many ancient civilizations had mystical meaning. Since there are not 73 (or even 37) days in any month, we’re left to multiple 7 times 3, coming up with the 21^st.

Digging deeper yet, on the website number1in21.com I found mathematical explanations about why 21 is special. First off, 21 is a Fibonacci number; that is, one of a series of numbers that are the sum of the two preceding numbers. Thus the sequence 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, and—voilá—21!

Turns out, 21 is a Harshad number, too. Although I’m familiar with Fibonacci (and I love that name), Harshads are new to me. They’re divisible by the sum of their digits; (2 plus 1 equals 3; 21 divides by 3 exactly seven times.) The trick is that this must be true in any base used. I once programmed mainframe computers in basic assembler language, so I’m familiar with the concept of bases. At my age, I’ve lost my fascination with binary machinations, so I’ll take number1in21.com’s word for it that 21 works in other bases.

Other noted mathematical qualities of 21 are that it’s a “Motzkin number… as well as a triangular number, an octagonal number and a composite number,” whatever all of those are. Number1in21.com claims it’s significant in geometry and other fields of mathematics. I started to research these and quickly decided that I’ll take number1in21.com’s word on this information about the number 21, too.

The site also points out that 21 “happens to be the sum of the digits from 1 to 5.” I feel compelled to point out that the number 27 happens to be the sum of the digits from 1 to 6, but nobody’s ever claimed the world would end on the 27^th. Even poor February has a 27^th every year. (I know—and a 28^th. But not a 29^th.)

The mathematicians reading this are no doubt shaking their heads, thinking, “Yes, but 27 is not a Fibonacci or a Motzkin. And it’s not a triangular or an octagonal. Short of helping to fill out the ends of the months, it’s practically useless.”

Maybe so. But it is a Harshad (at least in the base 10) and a composite number. And without the 27^th, every February would have a 29^th. That would mean the end of Leap Year. And Sadie Hawkins Day.  And along with it any hope for all those widows in retirement communities. Those of you too young to know about Sadie Hawkins should Google Al Capp’s comic strip Li’l Abner.

The rest of you can just relax and enjoy a nice glass of wine. That’s what I plan to do. After all, today is the 22^nd and we’re all still here. Salute!

Retirement Terminology — A Group By Any Other Name

A photo in a magazine showed a huge black cloud of birds, high above rooftops. It was described as a ‘murmuration of starlings.’ I’d heard of a ‘gaggle of geese’ and an ‘exaltation of larks,’ but never ‘murmuration.’ I was entranced and instantly fell in love with the term. A little Googling turned up a ‘gulp of swallows,’ a ‘convocation of eagles,’ and — be still my heart — an ‘ostentation of peacocks.’

It turns out many of these are poetic inventions, often centuries old, and several books on such terms have been published over the years. The website WorldWideWords.org tells us: Type ‘collective nouns’ into any Web search engine: you’ll find dozens of sites featuring them, though the level of wit is sadly variable.

Upon reading Michael Quinion’s article on collective nouns, I likewise instantly fell in love with his website. I also decided that I have an obligation to come up with some witty ‘collective nouns’ for retirees and seniors. Here goes.

Recreational groups:

A gabble of Mah Jong players, gossiping about their neighbors

A sproutation of garden club members, repotting their seedlings

A slithering of shuffleboard addicts, slipping their discs

A procrastination of checkers enthusiasts, plotting their moves

A bouffant of square dancers at the community center hoedown

A muster of dominoes aficionados, lining up their tiles

Some everyday collectives:

A scootation of Hoveround® riders, headed to the mall

A droople of Sansabelt® wearers, hiking up their pants

A tippling of sherry lovers, imbibing in the afternoon

A snooze of nappers, practicing their snores (after sherry hour…)

An explication of crossword puzzle buffs, filling in the blanks

A loopation of Velcro® devotees, adjusting their shoe straps

Medical terms:

A clatter of denture wearers, adjusting their teeth

A glom of seniors on statins, trying to unclog their arteries

A congestion of fiber enthusiasts, on line at the restroom (also trying to unclog…)

A tumble of folks with vertigo, riding the ‘down’ escalator

A gimp of orthopedic patients, doing physical therapy

Special bunches of women:

A frumple of blue-haired old ladies, crocheting toilet paper cozies

A noblesse of volunteers, dressed in their finest goody two shoes

A swarm of quilters, circling at their weekly bee

A dithering of envelope stuffers, helping with a church mailing

An omnibustle of book club members, arguing about character motivation

There you have it, my list to date. I hope you find the level of wit consistently above average. Your own suggestions are welcome, but you might want to read Quinion’s article first: http://www.worldwidewords.org/articles/collectives.htm.

Copyright 2012 Business Theatre Unlimited

Retirement Issues — Auto-Incorrect

As each year passes, my typing skills deteriorate. I’m prone to lazy pinkies, wandering ring fingers and errant middle fingers. I can’t blame my eyesight, because I touch-type most of the time. I’d like to think it’s arthritis, but more likely I’m just getting clumsier.

Suddenly I’m interacting more with the autocorrect and autocomplete functions on my computer. Unfortunately, I’m finding them sadly lacking in the accuracy department. Why is it that my computer auto-completes things I don’t need it to, and in a way that I don’t want it to? And at the same time, it fails to auto-correct my most obvious errors?

For example, when I’m keying into the URL bar in my browser, one of my lazy fingers often types three “os” instead of two. Is it asking too much for the autocorrect to change “Faceboook” into “Facebook”? Apparently so. Today I learned it’s also too demanding to have “Facenook” auto-corrected to “Facebook.”

On the other hand, unwanted autocompletes can make just enough sense to leave people scratching their heads when they mean something quite different from what was intended. I recently keyed in “Many seniors have serious health problems,” but it showed up as “Many seniors have serious health prospects.”

I caught the error, but it left me wondering what my readers would have thought I meant by “health prospect.” At worst, the phrase conjures up the specter of an infomercial for some miracle potion being hawked on retro TV. At best, it smacks of a special discount for seniors at the local Y.

In addition to my individual fingering problems, I’m prone to finger dyslexia. That is, I sometimes get letters in a word out of sequence. This can be disconcerting. One of my email messages was supposed to read: “Angry Lebanese stormed government buildings.” Imagine my surprise to see that “Angry Lesbians stormed government buildings.” Thanks to my finger dyslexia, unwanted auto-complete had struck again.

Lately I’ve noticed that my typing dyslexia has spread to my verbal communication and I’m now prone to auto-complete in my speech. Or as I like to call it, auto-incorrect. Here’s just one example.

My husband and I were discussing the current political scene. I meant to say: “One of the ways to have a successful presidency…” but it came out “One of the ways to have a successful pregnancy…” He looked at me, panic stricken, as I stood there open-mouthed, trying to spit out what I really intended to say. When I finally corrected myself and said, “I mean, presidency,” he exhaled audibly.

It seems that I often say the first syllable of a word correctly, but then my brain-to-mouth connection gets interrupted. I go through a list of commonly used words that start with the same syllable, usually silently in my head. “Prosper, prospect...”

Sometimes I do this out loud, hoping that actually hearing the second syllable will somehow make the word I’m looking for come to me more easily. More likely, the “in depth property inspection” that I’m searching for will come out “in depth prostate inspection.” Try getting that image out of your head.

These auto-incorrects can be so ridiculous that I’ve started collecting them. They’re like mixed metaphors and mangled aphorisms. My husband has always been prone to those, but he has an excuse; English was not his native tongue. “A rolling stone sweeps clean” and “He was caught between a rock and a frying pan” are two of his classics.

“Angry Lesbians storming government buildings” probably won’t stand the test of time as well as Jagdish’s colorful misspeaks. Unfortunately, the “in depth prostate inspection” will probably be burned into my psyche for quite awhile.

Damn you, auto-incorrect!

Retirement Reflections — Luke’s Thank Yous

After hearing about my 2012 thank you list in last week’s blog, Luke, our remaining cat, asked me to post his thank you list this week. Here’s what Luke says he’s thankful for.

1. Mommy’s cushy thighs that make the perfect place to lie on in bed. Her tummy’s nice and cushy, too, but I like her thighs better. Her knobby knees, not so much.

2. The wicker settee that spends the winter up on the third floor, where it’s really quiet. I can see the door from my lounging spot, in case someone scary comes upstairs. I especially like the fake fur throw folded over the seat cushion.

3. The spot where the sun warms the bed in the small guest room every morning. And the poufy quilt folded on the end of the bed in the large guest room, where I can sink in for the afternoon. So many places to curl up, so little time!

4. Water bowls that get magically refreshed whenever Mommy comes into the room, and the way she lets the water run in the sink a long time until it gets really cold and all the lead from our old pipes has flushed through.

5. Tender Beef, Chopped Grill, and Tender Beef and Liver Feasts; that’s the brown, green and fuchsia labels of Fancy Feast Classics, in case anyone is looking for stocking stuffers.

6. Clumping cat litter that makes it fun for me to dig to China. I’m sure I’m only a few hundred miles away. I expect to make it by New Years.

7. Getting to go o-u-t for about an hour every few weeks, when the weather is nice and it’s a quiet weekend in our neighborhood. At my age, I don’t want to go o-u-t when it’s cold or raining or windy or when there are lots of crazy drivers on the streets.

8. Crabgrass, especially when my tummy is upset. We used to have good crabgrass in our yard, but not since Mommy had the lawn care guy treat it. At least our neighbor’s grass is still crabby.

9. The way Mommy kisses the top of my head and pretends she’s grooming me. And that place right in front of my ears that she rubs when she talks quietly to me and calls me Luke the Magnificent and Luke the Lionhearted. Which I am, of course. (Magnificent and lionhearted, that is.)

10. Mostly I’m thankful that Mommy is now retired and spends so much time at home with me, telling me that I’m handsome and brave and strong, and that she loves me very much. She makes me purr, because I love her, too.