Retiree’s Life in Pie Charts

This week’s post is a visual one: viewing a typical retiree’s life in pie charts. Special thanks to my Fly Fox friend for suggesting this idea. If you have trouble reading the legends for these charts, scroll to the bottom. They are in text down there.

There you have it. A typical retiree’s life, explained in easy to understand pie charts.

As promised, for those who have visually-challenged computer screens, below is the text.

A RETIREE’S LIFE IN PIE CHARTS

ITEM                                                                PERCENTAGE

Sleep Cycle

Time Spent Getting Ready for Bed                                                            20

Time Spent Trying to Fall Asleep                                                               30

Time Spent Getting Up to Go to the Bathroom                                        5

Time Spent Trying to Get Back to Sleep                                                  15

Time Spent Actually Asleep                                                                       15

Time Spent Trying to Wake Up and Get Going                                       15

Doctors' Appointments

Time Spent Looking for Doctors' Phone #s                                             15

Time Spent Scheduling Doctors Appointments                                     20

Time Spent Changing Doctors Appointments                                        25

Time Spent in Doctors' Waiting Rooms                                                   32

Time Spent with Doctors in Their Offices/Exam Rooms                         8

Food Cycle

Making Shopping List                                                                                 18

Grocery Shopping                                                                                       20

Unloading Car/Putting Groceries Away                                                   27

Deciding What To Eat                                                                                  25

Preparing Meal                                                                                              6

Actually Eating                                                                                               4

USPS Mail

Occupant Junk Mail                                                                                       25

Personalized Junk Mail                                                                                 15

Charity Appeals                                                                                              10

Bills                                                                                                                   20

Medical Information (Non-Bills)                                                                  25

Personal Mail Worth Opening                                                                       5

Phone Calls

Solicitations (Robocalls and Live)                                                               35

Surveys (Robocalls and Live)                                                                       20

Appointment Reminders                                                                              15

Family Emergencies                                                                                         8

Family Guilt Calls                                                                                            12

Friends Keeping in Touch                                                                              10

Your Social Network

Neighbors You Avoid                                                                                     25

Neighbors Who Avoid You                                                                           25

Neighbors You Never Cross Paths With                                                     10

Neighbors You Spend Time With                                                                   5

Facebook Friends You "Spend Time" With                                                35

Just-In-Case Lifestyle

You may have heard of the Just-In-Time inventory concept popularized several decades back. To reduce costs, manufacturers kept the absolute minimum inventory on hand. They implemented computer systems to help predict orders and locate production facilities to optimize their ability to deliver goods “just in time.”

Today, thanks to digital printing, that concept has found its way into publishing as “Print On Demand.” That’s how I published my three books, through Amazon’s Create Space arm. My books get printed only when (if) someone orders one of them on Amazon.com. Don’t worry. This post is not about selling my books. It’s about the contrarian inventory concept of “Just In Case,” which means it’s about how I came to have such an array of belongings.

“Just In Case” is a mantra that I’ve lived by most of my life. It explains half the clothes that are in my closet, tags still attached. Also a cabinet full of cake pans, just in case I decide to take up baking. And shelves of How To… books and file drawers of reference materials on arcane topics. In preparation for downsizing our house, I’ve been weeding out things I acquired “just in case.” Not an easy task when you’ve spent your life accumulating stuff.

I blame my mother for this. She had a full-size standing freezer in our kitchen that was always chock full of meals she’d prepared, ready to be defrosted at a moment’s notice. She did this—you guessed it—just in case a platoon of friends or relatives dropped in unannounced and needed to be fed. Or more accurately, just in case they dropped in unannounced, period. It was her assumption that people always needed to be fed. (Did I mention my mother was Italian?)

My brother turned this into a standing joke with her. As my mother aged into her eighties, she’d engage us in conversations about who should take what from the house after she was “gone.” When my brother was visiting from California and she started on this, he would ask her teasingly: “Where’re you going, Mom?” And she’d shoot back: “Well, I won’t be around forever, you know.”

This prompted him to reply: “You’re not going to leave us anytime soon. You wouldn’t do that to us.” She’d ask what made him so sure, and he’d point out that the freezer was not completely filled to the brim. “You wouldn’t leave us with the freezer partly empty. How would we feed all the people who’d be coming back to the house after your funeral?” Then we’d all laugh, and my mother would get up and start cooking.

It wasn’t only with food that she believed in being prepared. She kept brand new pajamas and a robe in her dresser, just in case she had to go to the hospital unexpectedly. So you see, it’s mostly my mother’s fault that I’ve been saddled with this “just in case” mentality.

To be fair, I suppose my father is also partly to blame. He amassed a garage full of tools, just in case. We lived in one of the snowiest parts of New Jersey, but our car spent the winters in our driveway. There was no room for it in the garage. In his defense, my father used most of his tools and equipment. Or again, more accurately, he used them or he loaned them out to neighbors.

He had a table saw and a band saw and a wall full of those plastic organizers with the drawers that pull out. He had drivers for every type of screw ever made and wrenches that looked like pieces of bent metal. Back in the fifties I was probably the only teenage girl who knew what an Allen wrench was. I was also the only freshman in my college dorm who arrived with her own toolbox. I became popular quite quickly. (Thank you, Dad.)

Between them, my parents were prepared for every eventuality that could have befallen our household. I was doomed from the get go. Even now, I stock up on extra candles, batteries and bottled water, in case the power goes out for a few days. That was a common occurrence where I grew up, but it hasn’t happened once in my twenty years in Providence. Not even last year, when Connecticut was a disaster.

No, a Shaker lifestyle was never in my cards. Speaking of cards, I have two decks (unused) especially for playing Briscola. You never know when you’re going to run into some Italians who might want to play that card game, so I bought the decks when I was in Piemonte. Just in case.

Changing Tastes

When I did our grocery shopping this week, the type of yoghurt we prefer was nowhere to be found in the local Stop & Shop, a major chain. I usually buy their store brand, but I’ll pay extra for Stonyfield, if that’s the only way I can get the variation we use. That is: regular yoghurt, nonfat, plain, in the large container.

There was exactly one regular S&S yoghurt in the large container, and it was nonfat vanilla. We don’t like the vanilla. The Stonyfield section had several nonfat vanilla ones, and exactly one plain, but it was low fat. I snapped it up anyway, to avoid having to stop at another market. In case you’re not a yoghurt eater, let me tell you why our variation is so hard to find these days. Everyone has hopped onto the Greek yoghurt bandwagon. It’s thicker and creamier, but we prefer regular. Jagdish won’t touch the Greek.

This episode made me realize yet again that people’s tastes change over time, and because of that, food and beverages that I’ve enjoyed for years are suddenly difficult, if not impossible to find. I’m sorry, but the older I get, the more I appreciate some stability in my life. I resent having to rejigger my eating habits to keep up with what’s in vogue this month.

In rare instances, the world’s tastes have caught up with my own. I was a tea drinker when tea wasn’t cool. Now even Starbucks is pushing the teacart. This means I have more varieties from which to choose and every place I shop has a decent supply. Oh, yes, and there’s usually one brand on sale somewhere. Sweet!

One beverage where tastes have changed notably over the years, including my own, is wine. I’ve always gone for drier wines, but I used to prefer white. (These days I prefer red.) I remember when Chablis was the wine of choice when you went out to dinner. Now I rarely see Chablis on a wine list, unless it’s three pages long.

Likewise no longer easy to find is Verdicchio, which was one of my youthful preferences. I loved that citrusy zing and the interesting bottles, especially the cute fish-shaped one and the curvy number. Speaking of the curvy bottle (Fazi Battaglia), I also loved their radio commercials, the ones where diners struggled to pronounce the name. “Bring us some of that Fuzzy Baggies” is particularly memorable.

Mateus was another popular option in the early seventies, an affordable rosé that has pretty much disappeared (mercifully). Most folks pronounced it Mahtoose, but I always gave it three syllables, like Matthew in Portuguese—Mah-teh-oos. Apparently, the pronunciation, like the wine, targets a less-urbane audience, because the makers use two syllables.

Moving on to reds, more recently Pinot Noir (think the movie Sideways) gave way to Merlot, which is giving way to Malbec. I remain partial to a Cab or a nice Chianti. I could do an entire post just on changing tastes in wine.

Back to what to order when you go out to eat, when I worked in midtown Manhattan, one of my go-to lunches at the Brasserie on East 53^rd was steak tartare. It’s gone (the tartare, not the Brasserie), and not just because of Mad Cow disease. Blood red meat is considered too Mad Men macho; it’s also bad for your cholesterol. Everyone is more health conscious now. You’re more likely to see tuna tartare than the beef version.

Sweetbreads and Rocky Mountain (or prairie) oysters seem to have disappeared, too. What’s that about? Did the Internet make it easier for people to find out what they were actually eating? And frogs’ legs. Several species of frogs are endangered. Have we finally grown a social conscience? More likely it’s because France enacted laws to protect them in 1980. I doubt that Julia Childs would include Cuisses de Grenouille in a new edition of Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

Many of my more salient food memories have been tossed into the gastronomic InSinkErator. It should make me angry, but it just makes me sad. I guess I should thank the Lord for small favors. All the items that are on Luke’s increasingly short list of acceptable foods are still available in supermarkets. There are some things he just won’t eat. He’ll sniff them, give them a poke or two and then walk away. That’s probably what Jagdish would do if I served him Greek yoghurt. Let’s hope we never have to find out.

Go Ahead… Make His Day!

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When I was young, let’s say in my twenties and early thirties, I was fly. And, truth be told, pretty hot. Lunchtime often saw me out and about in midtown Manhattan in miniskirts and high heels. It was not unusual for construction workers to make admiring comments, catcalls and an occasional suggestion that cannot be repeated here. Actually, most of the comments can’t be repeated here, either. Looking back, I realize that it felt good to be appreciated, regardless of the source.

Unless my memory has huge gaps, decades went by without any catcalls. The only appreciative comments I remember from my forties and fifties were compliments on my perfume. I got those quite regularly, from both men and women. The men often asked the name of it, so they could buy it for their wives or girlfriends. It was Issey, by Issey Miyake, by the way, and my niece is the one who hooked me on it.

Then there was one memorable encounter about six years ago, while I was still working. Once a year, I spent a few days at a local senior center that had what was called an RSVP operation. The center received a government grant in exchange for providing free help with bulk mailings for non-profit groups. The women who frequented the center did the folding, assembling and stuffing.

I checked in periodically to replenish materials and to make sure things were being done according to spec. I was usually dressed in what would best be described as casual business wear—a soft skirt and blouse or sweater. One day as I was leaving, I crossed paths with an elderly gentleman; he was probably in his eighties. He said something complimentary—I can’t recall exactly what—and I smiled and thanked him. I would have hugged him, but one has to worry about the tickers in older gents.

I was reminded of this encounter recently as I was about to pull out of a Home Depot parking lot. A man in his late fifties, or perhaps his sixties—I can’t tell ages anymore—was walking from his car to the store. He was balding. Actually, he was almost completely bald. He had a paunch, but not a sloppy one; his golf-type shirt was tucked neatly into his belted sports slacks. With spine erect, he walked purposefully through the lot. He looked confident, but not arrogant.

I was so impressed to see someone of this vintage with good posture and energy that I almost rolled down my car window to say something to him. “Looking good!” Or perhaps “I admire your posture and the way you walk so briskly.” I wasn’t sure what I should say, so instead, I just drove away. Besides, I was afraid he’d think I was hitting on him. (I’m not fly anymore, so he certainly wouldn’t have considered my attentions flattering.)

Before I even reached the street, I regretted that I didn’t pay him a compliment. He deserved it. He had earned one. I knew that fly or not, anything I would have said would have lifted the spirits of this seemingly ordinary man. I could have made his day, but instead I chickened out. That’s when I remembered the senior gent who had perked me up a few years back.

So, here’s my advice to everyone reading this. If you see someone who looks good or is doing something nice, go ahead… make his day! Let him (or her) know that you’ve noticed. “Way to rock it!” “You look mah-velous!” (a la Billy Crystal.) “You smell awesome!” “Love your shoes!” “Somebody’s been working out!” I could go on, but you get the idea.

Are you too shy to speak up to a stranger? Then give them a big smile, or just a head nod. You’d be surprised how easy it can be to lift someone’s spirits for a few hours, or even for the entire day. Try it. I promise it will make you feel good, too.

By the way, you look great today!

Amusement Park Rides for Retirees

Summer is almost upon us and TV is replete with soft news about the latest amusement park rides, or classic rides that are being refurbished. We don’t hear much about amusement park rides that have been designed (or redesigned) especially for retirees. Good news. I’m addressing that in today’s post.

I grew up in a lake community that was about a half hour from a quaint amusement park called Bertrand’s Island. Several times each summer, a handful of chaperones took a bus full of kids there on Nickel Night. Just as it sounds, every ride cost only a nickel, except for the wooden roller coaster, and that was a dime. The line for the coaster was always long, but once on it, you could pay another dime and stay for another spin. I once rode that coaster 26 times in a row, and it wasn’t even on a dare.

Back in my heyday, one of the favorite rides of teenagers with raging hormones was the Tunnel of Love. You cuddled in a little boat that drifted through dark, winding waterways that eventually whooshed you back to the dock where you began. The ride never lasted long enough. Retirees are welcomed to the Tunnel of Vision, where the boat hustles you through a tunnel that is pitch black on all sides. A blinding light in the middle leads the way out, and you can’t get there soon enough.

One ride I never understood until I started working full time and needed to release some aggression was the bumper cars. Predictably, these have been replaced with Bumper Scooters. If you thought bumper cars were an extreme sport, wait until you’ve taken a spin on Bumper Scooters. The seniors who drive them are so vicious that you need to wear helmets and sign a hold-harmless agreement to go on this ride.

Young girls were especially susceptible to the Fortune Teller’s charms. We knew it was hogwash, but who cared? As long as we were told we’d find true love and live happily ever after. Female retirees are more likely to be lured into the web of the Misfortune Teller. She’ll predict all the physical ailments that are going to befall you and members of your family. Tip her generously and she just may inform you that her “crystal ball” (read: smart phone) malfunctioned. WebMD says things won’t be that bad after all.

Not every amusement park had a Lost Continent ride, but every park for retirees has a Lost Continence. This is not so much a ride as an attraction. It’s a centrally located area with private booths where you can refresh your adult underwear. Vending machines are conveniently positioned inside the doorway. Can’t find it on the park map? It’s near the Lost Memory station, right next to the Lost Eyeglasses booth.

One of my favorite rides was The Whip. I remember once trying to talk my friend into going on it with me. The only way I could convince her was by paying her fare as well as my own. She was, as we say, “a big girl,” and unfortunately, I sat on the wrong side of her. When the Whip got going full bore, centrifugal force pushed her full weight on top of me. I had to pull myself out from under her, fighting the force, to get to the uphill side. The retirees’ version of this ride is The Whiplash. Enough said.

No amusement park worth its salt would be without a Ferris Wheel, and the retirees’ park is no exception. While most wheels today are built taller and taller (think the Millennium Wheel in London, or the Dubai Eye), the one for us seniors suffers from the same height and movement challenges as we do. Every year the Ferris Wheelchair gets a little bit shorter and moves a tad slower. When last I checked, it stood just thirty feet tall, had six chairs on it and took twenty minutes to make one full rotation.

One ride that mercifully has changed very little since our youth is the Carousel. Sometimes now called the Horseless Carousel, the only difference is that there are no animals that go up and down and give us vertigo. Or more accurately: exacerbate our already-existing vertigo. The ride now has just those beautifully painted chariots with tufted leather seats, but you can still reach for that brass ring.

Ah, yes. Nothing says Summer like a trip to the local amusement park. And I don’t mean those Six Flags extravaganzas. I’m talking about the ones with a manageable number of relatively simple rides and attractions. And especially ones designed with retirees in mind. Ticket, please.