The “Movin’ Out” Song

“Movin’ Out” to the tune of Razzle Dazzle 

Elaine:             Singin’ the old “Movin’ Out” song,

Movin’ outta here.

Chorus:                        Packin’ up their gear.

Elaine:             Boxing up things that bring me happiness;

Others may think they’re just a crappy mess.

Singin’ the old “Throw Things Out” song,

            Movin’ outta here.

Chorus:                        Packin’ up their gear.

Elaine:             How can I part with any of this stuff?

What if we really need it some day?

What if it’s worth kaching! on EBay?

Movin’ outta here

‘Cause enough is enough!

Elaine:             Chantin’ the old “Pack It Up” tune,

Headin’ outta here.

Chorus:                        Boxes up the rear.

Elaine:             Give me the taping gun and bubble wrap;

I’ll have this done within a double snap.

Singin’ the “Closets Have No Bottoms,”

Headin’ outta here.

Chorus:                        Boxes up the rear.

Elaine:             Carefully marking top and sides in bold.

Movers won’t read ‘em when they stack ‘em;

Writing will all be on the back ends.

Headin’ outta here

‘Cause our house finally sold!

Elaine:             Dancin’ the “Black and Blue Marks” tango,

Gettin’ outta here.

Chorus:                        Closing day is near.

Elaine:             Carrying boxes down two flights of stairs,

Bumpety bump! Who put that carton there?

Singin’ the “Oh, My Aching Back” tune,

Gettin’ outta here.

Chorus:                        Closing day is near.

Elaine:             Time to rethink what needs to get marked “Keep.”

My how that “Donate” pile is growing,

Trash barrels now are overflowing.

Gettin’ outta here.

I could sure use some sleep!

Elaine:             Hummin’ “We’re Gonna Find A New Place”,

Nothing falling down.

A condominium will be the best.

No mowin’ lawns, no battles with weeds.

Nothing so old it makes my purse bleed.

Movin’ outta here

Chorus:            Movin’ outta here

All together:    Movin’ outta here

And it’s time for a rest.

Speaking of taking a rest, this will be my last blog post for the rest of the summer. We’ll be subletting a third floor walk-up not far from Jagdish’s store until we land in our new home, hopefully within a few months. I’m not moving our phone land line there or getting any Internet access, so I’ll be on hiatus. Have a great summer everyone!

Revisionist Recreation for Retirees

If you’re looking for low-stress recreation, now is a great time to be retiring. Changes that are afoot for golf and chess will make both of these activities more senior-friendly.

Courses around the country are testing revisions aimed at making golf more relaxing for seniors. “Aimed” is the operative word here. Those who are especially unskilled at putting that little white ball into that almost-as-little cup are a key audience for this trend.

The lead to an April N. Y. Times article by Bill Pennington got my attention: “Golf holes the size of pizzas.” Pennington tells us that industry leaders worry about golf “following the baby boomer generation into the grave.” This is not an image I want in my head as I watch golf on Sunday afternoon TV. To re-quote pro Sergio Garcia on the new rules: “A 15-inch hole could help… older golfers score better.” Ya think? And don’t expect me to dig deeper into scoring in a 15-inch hole. You can go there on your own.

Another idea being kicked around is foot golf, using soccer balls, along with those pizza-sized holes. A key objective is to reduce the intimidation many folks feel when confronted with golf’s single set of rules for experts and amateurs alike. What’s the big deal if they have a second set of rules that are more retiree-friendly? It’s not like someone who wants to play just 9 holes with cups that he can actually see without his driving glasses on is going to compete in a PGA sanctioned event.

The TV commentators spend a lot of time discussing a pro’s club selection. I gather they can carry only a limited number of clubs in their bag during a tournament under the current rules. That sounds like an advantage to me. I’d be as confused over which club to use as I would be over which golf shoes to wear with what outfit. Give me just two clubs, but put a different head thingy on each end. If it doesn’t work one way, I’ll turn it upside down and try again.

Speaking of trying again, another idea being floated is to help inept players get out of especially rough spots without levying penalty shots. Mulligans for all! And for every hole. (I used to think a mulligan was a style of golf shoe, by the way.) Just kick it out of that sand hazard. Or better yet, toss it out with your ungloved hand.

Even the PGA is on board with simplifying the game, tradition be damned. But don’t worry, plaid pants and wildly colored shirts will still be de rigueur for tournaments. Well, that’s a relief.

If your participation leans more in the armchair direction, you might be interested in efforts underway to make chess a spectator sport. This tidbit was reported in the Financial Times global section. Andrew Paulson, an entrepreneur with very deep pockets—and loads of patience, apparently—has set off on a crusade to make this happen.

Reporter James Crabtree claims Paulson “plans to infuse chess with… sponsorship deals and… razzmatazz.” As I read this, the strains of the song “Razzle Dazzle” from Chicago began playing in my brain. “Give ‘em the old Razzle Dazzle, razzle-dazzle ‘em. Long as you keep 'em way off balance, how can they spot you've got no talents? Razzle-dazzle 'em, and they'll make you a star!”

One piece of so-called razzmatazz would be biometric bracelets worn by the players. They’d track things like heart rate and perspiration level, “giving spectators an instant sense of the stresses faced at the board.” I don’t know about you, but I’m all tingly with anticipation just thinking about this.

Paulson is quoted as saying: “If you can persuade millions to watch golf, chess is going to be an easy sell.” Not so fast, Paulson. If you’d read Pennington’s article, you’d know that golf isn’t such an easy sell anymore, either. Maybe if they add mulligans to chess, we’d get some real excitement. “Oops! You just captured my queen. My bad. I’d like a do-over, thank you.”

Crabtree put his finger on the biggest stumbling block to making chess must-see TV. Sponsors are giving it a wide berth because the man who has run the sport for decades is an eccentric, to put it mildly. Perhaps this is due to the fact that (according to him) aliens once abducted him. On the plus side, they sent him back to earth with the knowledge that they had created the game of chess. You just can’t make this stuff up. Well, maybe you can. But this time I didn’t. Honest.

In Search of the Perfect Lawn Chair

Summer’s almost here. It’s time to drag the patio furniture from the basement storage and tune up the barbecue grill. Or maybe your furniture is kept overhead in the garage and you’re a fan of cold salads. Either way, you’re probably thinking about replacing some of your seasonal seating.

Whether it’s in the front yard, on the back deck or in a sunny spot at the local shore, there’s a place in everyone’s summer life where they like to stretch out on a comfortable lawn chair. Notice that we call it a “lawn” chair even if it sits on a slate patio, a wooden pallet or a sandy beach. The more time you spend on it, the more you appreciate the importance of finding the perfect lawn chair.

When I was working full time, this wasn’t a major concern. I sat down so infrequently on weekends that an aluminum folding chair with missing webbing was just fine. Or one of those stackable plastic ones you find in the promotional aisle at the supermarket every Spring. Now that I’m retired and we’re ready to downsize, I expect to spend a lot of time relaxing outdoors. This realization sent me in search of the perfect lawn chair.

My first stop was one of those pseudo-hardware stores that load up on seasonal supplies, changing much of their stock four times a year. I tried out updated versions of my webbed aluminum beach chair. One model had straps so narrow that they cut into my ample fanny, leaving parts of me drooping through the gaps. Another one, with wider straps, had no give at all, which meant no air circulation. Not a good design for the hot sun.

I found one with webbing that seemed just right, so I sat down. Because I’m short (one half inch shorter than last year, according to my GP), my feet didn’t touch the ground unless I pointed my toes, giving me a cramp. A similarly-webbed option looked closer to the ground. When I tried it out, I discovered it was too close to Mother Earth. My knees accordioned under my chin and I had to tip the chair on its side to get out of it.

I headed to one of the larger home goods stores that have an entire section devoted to patio and garden needs. Not a single chair there had webbing or an aluminum frame. This boded well. Instead we had “genuine California redwood” and “environmentally-sensitive repurposed plastic.” Be still my heart.

I jumped right into phase two of my assessment process: adjusting the tilt. I picked a friendly looking chair and set it at a promising angle before I sat down. I was pleased to see that my feet reached the ground but my knees didn't hit my chin (or boobs). The angle I had chosen was fine if I planned to do some reading, but I needed to lean back more if I wanted to take a nap.

I moved the tilt lever (carefully, I thought) and instantly I was flat on my back with my shirtsleeve caught in the lever. I was virtually immobile. After about ten minutes, another shopper wandered by and rescued me. Being the adventurous type, I tried out several more loungers, with similar results. About an hour later (and after my fourth rescue), I decided to go back to the drawing board.

By drawing board, I mean my car, in which I drove to a specialty retailer that carries nothing but summer furniture. Here I discovered another criterion to narrow the choices in my search for the perfect lawn chair: price. My budget eliminated three-quarters of the stock displayed so invitingly throughout the store. At least I had an attentive employee to help untangle me if necessary.

Speaking of help, my salesperson asked an unexpected question: “Have you ever considered a hammock?” I resisted the urge to ask: “Have you considered having your head examined?” Instead I answered meekly: “My joints are creaky. I have zero core strength and even less balance. Do you have a hammock that addresses those issues?” It turns out he did not. But what he did have was the perfect lawn chair for me.

When I first sat down, I was practically standing up. I pushed a button and it gently set me at just the right level for my height. I pushed another button, and it tilted me back for a snooze. It came with a waterproof cover and a spare power pack. It even had (wait for it...) a special cup holder for my wine cooler!

It also came with a price tag that placed it well into that three-quarters of their stock above my budget. I bought it anyway. Let’s face it. The perfect lawn chair is priceless.