I realize that I can’t see myself getting older, even when I look in the mirror. I apparently only see those around me getting older. Every day it seems, I watch our dog Tinker move a little slower, often refusing to do stairs, and well behind the walking pace of her younger canine sister. Dark age spots cover her body, along with grayer hair and other skin imperfections.  I know that a similar deterioration is taking place with me, but I refuse to acknowledge it. My wife is also five years younger, so it’s often hard to keep up with her energy, especially since I expend a lot of mine on a daily morning run, while she gets ready for work. In addition, she pays much more attention to her skin, hair, and teeth than I do. As is often said in regret: “if I knew I was going to live this long, I would have taken better care of my body.” My son and grandchildren, once the standard of gauging my mortality, now live too far away to use them as a daily measuring stick of the aging process. Consequently, it’s hard to comprehend that my son is forty-three and his oldest will soon be eleven.

My lack of awareness about aging is a factor of my strong inner child, keeping me young at heart. However, my wife pointed out a woman in a restaurant recently that she felt had similar facial features, and all I saw was an old woman that looked “nothing like me.” I’m adopted and have halfheartedly tried to find a birth mother connection, but I’ve never wanted a relationship. My sister is also adopted and was able to form a relationship with her birth mother that has turned somewhat sour. Loving one mother was always enough for me, but curiosity about someone that looks like me has always been important. A simple photo was all I ever wanted, and had I watched my own mother getting older, I might have a different perspective on how aging has affected me. I definitely did not want my wife to approach this woman stranger to see if there was a possible relationship, but clearly my closest friend sees me much differently than I see myself.

My wife’s recent perception of my appearance is eye opening to me. I try to see that in the mirror each day, but what stares back at me is a “youthful” forty-year old. I still find it hard to believe that I’m sixty-six years of age! I haven’t lost my curly locks, my eye sockets are not swollen or dark, and while there are creases around my mouth and my neck shows turkey signs, I don’t have a lot of wrinkles. I’ve also recently noticed some darkening spots on my forehead, the result of sun damage. The daily runs keep me fit, but it now takes twice as long to run a mile than it once did in my prime. In addition, the tips of my fingers and toes have lost some feeling and my hands tend to shake, due to a touch of peripheral neuropathy, and I’ve never had great flexibility. Stretching and regular chiropractor visits have helped keep the stiffness out of my lower back, so bending over is not as painful as it once was. My waist line is definitely thicker, but I’ve somehow maintained the same weight for the past twenty-five years. There’s more flab and less muscle, but I’ve lost any interest for six-pack abs, since now I only possess the fatty insulation to keep it cold.

Today is a monumental post in my blog, since my original goal was to do one a day during the first year of my retirement. There are still 17 days left until the first anniversary and I’ve already achieved that 365 number. In the background is the TV tuned to the Discovery Channel and another survivalist show that seem to fascinate me, despite my personal lack of skill or desire to try to survive in an outdoor environment. Give Me Shelter! Whether it’s a tropical jungle, bush country, the wilderness, underwater, or on the beach, if there’s not a luxury hotel, a hot shower, and a fine chef within walking distance, I will never survive for more than a few hours. Maybe these “background noise” shows provide plenty of justification for my shortcomings. For the same reasons, I could also never be a cowboy, yet I’ve enjoyed Netflix series like “Longmire” and “Godless.” I also watched the Ken Burns documentary this morning, “Horatio’s Drive” about the first transcontinental automobile race in the early 1900’s. Despite the hardships of driving on undeveloped, dirt roads from San Francisco to New York City, at least they were able to find hotel rooms along the route. I could do that, but wouldn’t have had the mechanical skills to keep the car running. To give you an idea how limited my survival and accomplishment skills truly are, I was proud of myself for simply getting a library card, checking-out the free documentary, and figuring out how to use the D.V.D. player.

I managed some constructive tasks today, including changing dentists, resolving a Go Daddy concern with my website, battling with Apple customer service over my watch problems, and finding a solution for buying some new glasses. My current eyewear was damaged during the Hood to Coast Relay a few months ago and my wife’s company insurance company has different providers than my previous employer’s plan. These are all hassles of retirement, but fortunately I now have more time (but not patience) to deal with them all properly.

We delayed “Date Night” until tonight, eliminating my night to cook this week. When all is said and done, I will have been out-and-about frequently this week, including a return to my former workplace for lunch with a fellow I.U. grad, doctor, optometrist, and chiropractor appointments, plus several errands and a trip to the dog spa for monthly grooming. I was also able to get some laundry, cleaning, and dusting duties accomplished. Tomorrow is the weekly leadership meeting at Buffalo Wild Wings, and Saturday Night we have tickets for Star Wars in 3D. Next week my wife’s youngest daughter is coming to visit from Washington D.C., so there will be very little “my time.” (See Post #30). At the end of next week, I’ll be another week older, further threatened by more wrinkles, age spots, and creases.

My wife is in Las Vegas tonight with her boss, while I am relegated to pet sitting. I know she would rather be with me, since we were married at the Bellagio over sixteen years ago. (See Post #340). She was not enthusiastic about her business meetings there, but our dog Tinker ended up needing my attention with an ear infection, so it’s fortunate that I stayed home this time. In her absence, I had also planned to visit a friend’s house near the Oregon Coast, watch the I.U. vs. Duke basketball game with him, and take the dogs for a romp on the beach. Tinker’s ears are probably burning, not just from infection, but she probably knows that I’m writing about her, and that her health prevented our journey. Instead of Vegas or the Coast, I’m at my computer tonight, reminiscing about trips to Vegas, and killing time before the game.

My first trip to Vegas was in 1970, when I quickly passed through there as part of my “Blueberry Hill” adventure. (See Post #295). I was in college, underage, and traveling with a friend, but our interest was not Vegas but rather the Pacific Ocean. As a result, we did not go to the casinos, although fascinated with the lights, especially as we were approaching through the dark desert. Our funds were limited, so we only stopped for gas, a toilet break, and orange juice before continuing our route west. The ocean seemed to draw us like a magnet, and fortunately we could go no further. As my dad is credited with saying when I reluctantly told him where we were in a phone call back home, “thank God there’s an ocean” was his witty reply. He did not know that we were taking his car that far, assuming that we were simply going camping at the nearby Indiana dunes. Honestly, we did not even know where we’d end up, having packed for only a weekend, but the ocean was calling. I give him credit for maintaining his temper, but I’m sure he was simply in shock from discovering our whereabouts. The wise words he muttered were very true, since we surely would have kept driving if there wasn’t an ocean to stop us.

I got my first true Vegas experience in the late 1970’s as the result of a sales contest. I was selling advertising time for a radio station in my hometown, and was excited at the prospect of winning a group trip to Vegas if our sales team could achieve our annual sales goal. We all worked hard to make it happen, using advertiser credits to put us barely over the top. I think the station manager was stunned that we made it, and was not prepared to lay out the cash to send us all to Vegas and had to justify it with the owner. In retrospect, it was a very low budget trip, but we did get to take our spouses. We flew on an off-brand flight and stayed at the Westward Ho, right next to Circus Circus. We got to go to a show, had a group dinner, and each got a $100 bill to gamble away. I had a young son, very little in my wallet, and fortunately didn’t own a credit card. I lost all my money the first night, but put together a plan to earn some cash. In those days, each casino offered incentive dollars that you could claim each hour. I had to sign up for a time-stamped card and with each hour that passed could claim a roll of nickels. It was like Trick or Treating for cash. My wife and I set up a route down the strip and spent many hours using coupons to collect money. We found that by dividing and conquering, we could gather even more, and when we got back to the room placed all our “candy” in a big pile on the bed. I can’t remember how much we collected, but it kept us busy, bought a few cheap meals, and allowed us one last chance to potentially strike it rich. That did not happen. What I remember most of that first trip, was how thin the walls around our room were, and became convinced that there was a conspiracy among the housekeeping staff to keep us awake all night so that we had no choice but to go out and gamble. There were no clocks and the air conditioning system was not working properly, so I got very little sleep and got frustrated with the whole Vegas scene. I never wanted to go back – but have many times since.

I won another trip to Vegas while working at a radio station in Indianapolis in the mid 80’s, and remember my boss getting us all front row seats for a Sammy Davis show by tipping the host with a pile of poker chips that he had won. This adventure was a big step up from the first and second visits. We had tickets to several shows, stayed in a quieter hotel, and got more gambling money to lose. It was the prelude to several personal trips that we took over the next couple years, making Treasure Island our home base, but I was never as big of a gambler as my first wife, so I was never happy in Vegas. I do remember going to Hugo’s Cellar for dinner at the Four Queens downtown where the ladies each received a rose and we enjoyed our first encounter with a Sommelier and good wine.  My wife at the time would stay up all night playing Blackjack, while I often went to bed early counting my losses. I did enjoy walking the strip, observing the unusual people, watching the outdoor displays, and thinking about all the free money that I collected on the same route years ago.

When I got remarried, we started going to Vegas for work-related conventions. We would stay at the Bellagio and go to meetings, shows, and cocktail parties. Through the years, I saw several different Cirque du Soleil shows, the most memorable being “O,” The Beatle’s LOVE, Avenue Q, and Mamma Mia.  I even got to meet Pete Townsend and The Who at a CBS party as part of introducing the television show, CSI.  I had talked my wife into getting married in 2001 as part of the TVB convention. She was reluctant because at one time she saw a VHS tape of my first wife and I getting humorously hitched by “Elvis,” and it left a poor impression of the Vegas wedding scene. We eventually settled on a much classier Bellagio ceremony in their rose garden, but after our honeymoon night, for business reasons, had to move to the less expensive Rio. She also reluctantly needed to get back to Indianapolis while I stayed for meetings, so even though the ceremony was unforgettable, some of the circumstances around it were less than desirable. Two of the most memorable moments were the limo ride to the courthouse to get our marriage license, and nearly missing the 12:30 p.m. ceremony because I had to wait to cash out on a winning slot machine. We had to scramble to get to the “chapel on time.” We had dinner at Delmonico’s where I presented her with a cake-topper Limoges of a bride and groom.

From 2001 through 2005, we traveled to Las Vegas each year, but haven’t been back since 2011 when we celebrated our 10th anniversary, with the exception of connecting flights. Her being in Vegas tonight is a distinct reminder that we need to go together soon. For us, it’s a romantic adventure that has been missing from our busy lives, even though the city is as accessible as anywhere we’ve lived. Our Vegas dining experiences have included Michael’s, Seablue, Bouchon, Joel Robuchon, Noodles, Aria, Fellini’s, Emeril’s, Aqua, 808 Ceasar’s, 3950 Mandalay Bay, Joe’s Stone Crab, Flavors By Alex, and Chinois, along with several visits to the fabulous Bellagio Buffet. I’d tell you more but, as we all know, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”