Category: RETIREMENT IS NOT WITHOUT HASSLES (Page 5 of 210)
My day-to-day retirement life
I finally realized that I could buy a brand-new printer for less than the cost of replacing the ink cartridges in the old one. I probably should have done this a year ago, but I couldn’t believe this was possible. Plus, the new printer fits in my custom cabinets, whereas the old printer was too big. Win…win. I was naturally expecting a set-up hassles, but that too went smoothly, and I got three months of free ink and paper delivered to my door. Technology can be wonderful.
I’ve had a couple of glitches when printing over the past few days, but these were strictly operator error. Old guy…new printer. I really don’t do that much printing anymore since we no longer distribute color flyers for neighborhood parties to all 80 homes. Instead, we bought a sandwich-board sign that sits at the entrance to the street. Over the past few days, I’ve printed a photo and my Arby’s gift certificate that I got for my birthday. Jamocha shakes are my favorite. My wife also needed certification certificates printed for her substitute work at school. This is what started the whole need for color ink and inspired me to buy this printer.
It’s amazing how excited you can get these retirement days over simply buying something new.
We resist having to replace things but sometimes this can save money and frustration in the long run. Often times with the old printer, the wireless function wouldn’t work, and I would have to install a cable directly to the computer to get the desired output. This hassle has been eliminated at a savings.
Sciatica is probably my biggest hassle these days. It continues to flare-up, especially in the morning and evening. However, in the course of my birthday conversations yesterday, I found several friends that have much greater sufferings. I’m fortunate that my heart surgery was a planned procedure rather than an emergency and that my hand tremors are not Parkinson’s related. My old-age ills are minimal and any complaints unjustified. After all, I have a new printer!
A neighbor of mine who is still recovering from hip surgery exclaimed: “I think we need to be walking on all fours after age 70.” I certainly felt that way this morning as I struggled to take the dogs out this morning. I had an ice bag on my thigh while leaning on my “rain cane,” and ultimately crawling back in the front door. The dogs felt I was one of their own but could tell I was in miserable pain. It wasn’t seventy that got me – it was seventy-two.
It was such a relief to plop breathlessly in my office chair, once they had their treats, of course. My wife will soon awake and take them to the dog park. There was no one around to witness my painfully pitiful efforts and soon I will be at the fitness center like nothing happened. The sciatica pain and stiffness comes and goes throughout the day. Tomorrow, I go to the doctor again with another plea for an MRI. I had a record five medical appointments last week and took our puppy to the vet, just so I could wait in another waiting room. These visits were not just about the sciatica and included a neurologist, urologist, and cardiologist. Too many “ists”!
Last night was date night and we went to Barb & Ken’s in nearby Englewood. I had meat loaf, an appropriate dish for the way I feel. I’m trying to work off some weight dealing with limited mobility, so we at least stayed away from dessert. The stationary bike, rowing machine, and treadmill do not burn off the calories for me like running used to do. Running took about 45-minutes while I spend about 75-minutes at the gym with little impact on my waistline. Post-surgery inactivity and our 20-day excursion of breaded tenderloins, wings, lobster, and pizza put about twelve extra pounds on my frame. As a result, shirts are a little tight and flab a bit excessive.
I’ll finish this blog post and head to the exercise room. The Hungarian Grand Prix will be on the TV near the stationary bike, so between that and a game of solitaire on the digital screen, the time will pass quicker than the calories. I’ll also probably spend some time in our pool today. The cool water feels good on my sore back and a good tan makes me look better than I feel. I’ll monitor my blood pressure, as instructed by the doctor, for additional entertainment. Little else is planned for this lazy Sunday.
I’m officially an old man, sinking to a new LOW this morning. I had to use an umbrella as a makeshift cane to take the dogs out this morning as the sciatica made my left leg both painful and useless. I named it the “rain cane,” close relative of the “sky walker” that I used briefly after heart surgery. It’s these early morning hours that are the toughest, before I have a chance to let the ice pack soothe the fire that shoots down my nerve. Once I get over the first, miserable couple of hours, it will loosen up and I’ll go to the fitness center for 45-minutes on the stationary bicycle, 10-minutes on the rowing machine, and a mile walk on the treadmill with the support of the side rails. All of these exercises I can do without pain since my lower back is supported. But enough about lows – let’s focus on highs!
I grew up in flat old Northern Indiana, where the highest elevation was at the top of a tree. I was not a climber so two feet on level ground was always my comfort zone. I tried to avoid going to the top of the monkey bars at recess while other kids seemed to relish that hanging thrill. It’s probably good that I started out in “low country” and then eventually worked my way up the mountains.
In actuality, the highest point in my home state of Indiana is naturally named “Hoosier Hill,” elevation of 1,257 ft. Trains also like to run on flat surfaces and there were certainly plenty of those running through town with the Robert Young Yards in my backyard. It was where freight cars were sorted or “classified to make new trains according to destination.” When first constructed in 1958, seven years after I was born, it was a 675-acre operation that had 109-tracks and could classify up to 3,500 cars a day. By the way, did I mention that we went to see Train and REO Speedwagon this week? That was a high, in fact you could smell it in the air.
At one point in life, I moved just over the state line into Michigan where it got just a little hillier. In fact, it was about a six-hour drive to some great ski areas where I lost some of my fear of heights riding the lifts. However, I still held on with a death grip. Mt. Arvon in the Upper Peninsula is still Michigan’s highest point standing at 1,979 feet. It is located in the rugged backwoods of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. Mount Bohemia is nearby – still pretty flat. Michigan ski areas, like popular Boyne Mountain, are therefore distinguished by acres not vertical drop.
Our next move was to Illinois, even flatter, and on the drive in from neighboring Indiana we could see forever, unless the cornstalk tassels got in the way. Charles Mound is the highest natural point in Illinois at 1,235 feet above sea level. We never did do any skiing in Illinois, but I’m sure there were some small resorts like in Indiana where it was 30-seconds down and an hour up after waiting in line. The lifts were still scary, even in low country.
Then came Texas, known for the dusty prairies, but does boast Guadalupe Peak with a towering elevation of 8,751 feet – now we’re talking. We lived in the city of Austin; its highest point is Mount Bonnell that peaks at 785 feet 1 inch – in cowboy boots with heals. There is very little snow in Texas and when it rarely does, it’s like a demolition derby on the roadways. Obviously, no skiing in Texas, except on water.
We found that “Rocky Mountain High” on our way through Colorado while driving to our next home. Mount Elbert is the tallest at a whopping 14,438, the second highest in the contiguous states, although I never skied there. I had already swooshed at Monarch, Breckenridge, Steamboat, Mount Hood, Arapahoe, and Keystone, but never actually lived in Colorado for more than a week at a time. It was onward to Oregon.
Portland was our last West Coast stop. Nearby Mount Hood topped out at 11,239 feet, so I could ski there any winter day. On a clear day walking through our neighborhood, we could see five peaks. It was also easy to get high in the state since pot was legal. However, it rained all the time and had no warm beaches, so it was never our choice for retirement.
At last, we hit our lowest level in life! Florida’s highest point is only 345 feet at the summit of Britton Hill near Lakewood. However, there are lots of highs by living in our resort-style neighborhood. Skiing, of course, is miles away, but I would still like to fulfil my “70+ Ski Club” badge. My last ski day was on April 3, 2018, and I ran the two-day “Hood to Coast” relay for the final time, August 25, 2017, almost 7 years to this day. Both of these highs seemed far out of reach as I hobbled on my “rain cane” this morning. Hopefully, I’ll reach other highs, despite living in such a low State.
Another day in the car but nearing the end. It started with what we expected was just an hour-and-a-half route into New Jersey. Instead, we failed to follow the directions and went more than an hour out of our way. We still had time for a hotdog and gas at WAWA before settling in the Flemington, New Jersey city known for the Lindbergh kidnapping. We enjoyed some snacks with our Florida neighbor friends in their summer home, and then promptly headed for the Unionville Winery to continue our afternoon grazing with a multi-bottle tasting. The evening was then spent over a salmon dinner and a game of Code Names. I was first to bed after once again nursing a painful leg all day and trying to negotiate more stairs.
After a restless night, I tried to get the blood flowing on their basement exercise bike. They served us a traditional Jersey breakfast treat of John Taylor ham on a sesame seed bagel. We opted out of adding ketchup like they suggested. They then drove us to nearby Asbury Park, where we all explored the boardwalk, pinball hall of fame, and a Bruce Springsteen museum. Nearby, was the famous Stone Pony where he and other local musicians like Southside Johnny still perform on occasion. It’s also the sight of unique artwork and a decorative glass dome where the beachside carousel was once housed.
We sat down for slice of Manuca’s spiral pizza, also known as a Trenton Tomato Pie, and wrapped up the evening with an authentic Jersey Italian Dinner, including a dish that they called “Sunday Leftovers” at Marinelli’s Restaurant. They are a couple that likes to play card games so we ended our Flemington stay with Five Crowns -I won! Winner, winner Italian dinner!
We finished off our leftover pizza in the car the next morning while passing through Delaware, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington D.C. on our way to Fayetteville, North Carolina. The short stint in Delaware took my wife’s total state count to 47 – only three to go – Nebraska and the Dakotas, as previously mentioned. Fortunately, nothing eventful happened in route before we stopped at Cracker Barrel and went to bed early in preparation for our last day of driving, the longest of our trip.
An eleven-hour driving day, that was supposed to be only ten, wrapped up our round-trip to Maine. The odometer read 25,112 as we departed the Fayetteville Spring Hill Suites. We passed quickly into South Carolina with only two last states to traverse, Florida and Georgia, soon seeing signs for an out-of-the-way Buc-ees. We planned to pick up the dogs, unload, and return the Rogue rental first thing in the morning. Oops – wrong turn and we end up at Buc-ees for the third time this trip, costing us an extra hour on the road. Maybe the cheaper gas and brisket sandwiches made up for the delays.
The final odometer reading was 25,830, just about 4,100 miles, the longest we’ve ever traveled together by car. It probably is comparable my roundtrip excursion from Indiana to California as a teenager. Once again, I thank my lucky stars for another hassle-free, safe journey where little went wrong and most everything was right. Winner, winner, Italian Dinner!
While my better half went shopping in charming downtown Ogunquit, Maine, I hit the Marginal Way Trail, a mile and a quarter scenic coastline path. It was suggested by an acquaintance that lives here. My wife then met me for lunch at Splash Food & Spirits on the rainy beach. According to the GPS, a four-hour drive would take us to White Plains, NY and the home of friends we met while living in Decatur, Illinois. It turned out to be nearly six with heavy traffic and rainy conditions. We’ve visited them before, unlike our other stops on this trip spent with neighbors met in our current Islandwalk neighborhood.
We eventually arrived in White Plains, just in time for happy hour. After getting out of the car, my left leg was incredibly stiff and sore with lots of stairs to negotiate. Dinner was across the street at Via Garibaldi, and bedtime couldn’t have come sooner. In the morning, I limped my way down the street until the muscles finally relaxed and took the pressure off my sciatica. The girls went into the city by train for a tour of the Morgan Library. The guys had lox and bagels at the White Plains Deli and took a drive out to the Hudson River Marina in preparation for the next day’s boat ride. Once we navigated our way by train and walked to the Bryant Park area, dinner was at L’Adresse before the Water for Elephants performance on the Imperial stage. Uncomfortable in the seats, I thought the show would never and the slow train back to White Plains didn’t get us home until 1a, 3-hours past my bedtime.
Our last day in New York featured boating on the Hudson with fried chicken and Fresca, a “dining” tradition with these White Plains friends who treated us to many boating adventures back in Decatur. Maris, their dog, went with us. I finally got a black & white cookie, as we anchored near West Point. What a beautiful day on the water that ended with a fabulous sunset. We elected to stay an extra night and drive into New Jersey the next afternoon with clean laundry thanks to their Broadlawn Co-op amenities.
Vermont was my wife’s 45th state on her way to 46 and 47, before the day was done. We picked up a celebration magnet and enjoyed the BLT lunch that was packed for us by our overnight hosts. We’ll eventually get her to Nebraska and the Dakotas, so she can join me in the prestigious “50 State Club.” Our overnight reservations were at Otter Creek in the Acadia National Park. We also picked up a New Hampshire magnet on the way there. We had finally arrived at the northernmost point of this journey with the odometer reading 23,960.
When we first crossed the state line, any chance for a photo of the welcome sign was obstructed by a MEN WORKING warning. There were indeed lots of road delays along Hwy. 1, but we did see a covered bridge along the way. Due to our remote location and late arrival, dinner was a disappointing cheeseburger under warming lights and re-heated chowder in a Styrofoam cup. The inn was charming on the outside but had cheap towels, no hair dryer, and a lumpy mattress. On the positive side, there were at least fresh blueberry muffins at check out.
August 8th was our 25.5 first-date anniversary (Eddiversary) and the 11th day of this journey. My wife had lunch with a best friend at Eddy’s Restaurant in Fishers last week, where this particular occasion gets its name. We had also acknowledged the 10-year date when we first moved to Portland, Oregon in 2014 while passing by “sister-city” Portland, Maine.
Our second and final Maine reservation was at Ocean Acres in Ogunquit. Road construction had slowed our progress into scenic Boothbay after shopping and walking around Bar Harbor. We were searching for last night’s elusive lobster roll and found it at the Nautilus Restaurant in Belfast. Dinner was also lobster at the Ogunquit Lobster Pound. My wife picked one out of the tank while I ordered lobster pie. We were pleased to find that our room even had a hair dryer, tub, and a TV that worked without multiple remotes. However, you would think that with a name like Ocean Acres, it would be on or even near the Atlantic, especially with the inflated price tag. Not the case!
Back on the road to Maine, we “shuffled off to Buffalo,” 7-hours away from Indianapolis to visit Islandwalk neighbors at their Upstate NY lake home. I had so far managed to get in a walk every morning, but only a mile on two occasions. My leg continued to bother me, particularly when I first got out of bed, so this limited exercise was not nearly enough to counter all the tenderloins, tacos, candy, wings, cookies, and alcohol consumed. On the way, we passed through Cleveland with memories of visiting the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
21,750 was our starting odometer reading from Venice. It was about 1100 miles from there to Indy and another 500 to Buffalo (23,170). The side trips to Rochester, Kokomo, and North Vernon added 400 more, and by the time we reach Acadia National Park another 800 will pass. It was already the 9th day of our journey. The next stop will be Maine, my 50th state to visit.
Once we left Buffalo and dined at Johnson’s Landing on Lake Erie, we experienced miles of new countryside for both of us. Rochester was about as far north and east I’ve been in New York state. Lake George took us close to Vermont where my travel was limited to ski areas. I did fly into Burlington, but the scenery was mostly snow on the bus ride to Stowe (3,625 ft.). Mount Washington (6,293 ft) is the highest point as we continue east towards New Hampshire and Portland, Maine. This will complete the Portland, MA (43:40 latitude) to Portland, OR (45:30 latitude) circuit, the two cities, one named after the other, are more than 3,000 miles apart but at similar northern points.
We shared what I called a “Buffalo sampler” at dinner that included wings, pizza, and beef on weck. It was great to spend time with our former neighbors that also spend their summers in NY, the first of two such overnight visits in a row. I managed to get a 2-mile walk in before our next 5-hour segment in the car.
While driving in the rain, it had struck me that our current travels had taken us from Rochester, Indiana to Rochester, NY, once home to my Indy friends. Years ago, I came on two occasions to nearby Lake Canandaigua (Can-You-Dig-It?) for a week of partying at their family summer “cottage” of at least twenty small bedrooms, once a fishing lodge or most likely a bordello. I remember a ghostly presence – maybe a result of the drugs and alcohol?
We arrived for Happy Hour at the beautiful Grosso Camp House, constructed of pine, on Great Sacandga Lake, just west of Saratoga Springs and south of Lake George. They made us a delicious salmon dinner before the bourbon put me to sleep. The next morning, I stumbled through a short, hilly walk before we all stopped to take-in a majestic view of the Adirondack Mountains on our way into Vermont.
A 9-hour drive took us from Atlanta to Indianapolis, followed by short jaunts to New Castle, North Vernon, Scipio, and Rochester over the next four days to sample as many breaded tenderloins as possible. The only delays so far had been heavy rainfall in mid-Kentucky and brief, mysterious computer glitches with the rear hatch. We stopped at Cracker Barrel for dinner as we passed into the Hoosier state – “Back Home Again!”
My addiction to baseball cards was evident, as we rolled along, squandering $50 here and there on upcoming Topps Chrome breaks. Lady Luck was not on my side with the cards but kept us safe throughout this journey. I proceeded to devour breaded tenderloins at a Moose, an Elks, and two other casual restaurants with expectations of wings when we finally got to Buffalo and of course Lobster in Maine. I “wandered” the back roads of Indiana, while visiting local landmarks and the homes of two half-sisters. My wife took advantage of my absence and dined with her old pals. We next headed north to her big high school reunion at another small-town Elks Club, passing more cornfields along the way and spending the late night in Kokomo.
I expected to meet many familiar faces from our past while in the Hoosier state, greeting nearly 50 at the Mousetrap, with more to come at the HS reunion gathering. Along the way I had already amassed a collection of gifts including cookies, caramels, a numbered bottle of Field of Dreams bourbon, a glass sculpture made from my birth father’s ashes, and one of his controversial swastika-labeled golf balls. I never knew the man but enjoyed hearing stories about him. He liked to call himself, “Bad News Banister.” I’m glad I wasn’t raised by him. Four of his daughters and I gathered at the Brick House in North Vernon, once the local train finished going back and forth, blocking the way there. You can always expect to be delayed by trains in Indiana.
Six days in Indiana before the next long drive to Buffalo. Before we left, we got to meet our newest family member, as I became G.U.M (Great Uncle Mike) once again. We also lunched with friends from our Egypt trip at Dick’s Drive-In, my wife’s hometown favorite (another tenderloin and Spanish fries). She grew up not personally knowing these Rochester neighbors until we were in a foreign country under coincidental circumstances. 78 classmates then attended my wife’s reunion at the Country Club (in reality just another Elks), near where my Mother-In-Law once lived on Lake Manitou. I dutifully manned the bar and tried to stay out of the way. 25-years prior to the previous reunion, I proposed to my wife on a lake pier.
We bypassed another Tropical Storm with our travels. This was the third time since we moved to Florida three years ago, including Ian, Idalia, and now Debby. Chicken legs on the grill and the houseful of young, rambunctious boys (Cole, Carter, and baby Calvin) kept G.U.M. entertained on Sunday, along with more Olympics action. Our last full day in Indy included Torchy’s Tacos for breakfast and a fill-up of the tank at Costco on our way back from Kokomo. We spent the night there at the Courtyard after the RHS reunion, taking advantage of Marriott Rewards Points. It was time to “Shuffle off to Buffalo.”
It all started with a busy morning of making last minute preparations for the drive to Maine and back. We dropped the dogs off at Schnauzerville, picked up the Nissan Rogue rental SUV, and packed for 19-days on the road. Our first leg was essentially a straight shot up I-75 to Atlanta. My wife’s niece was home for the 2024 Olympics after years of coordinating all the torch runs, so we were able to stay with her for the night and watch the events on TV.
It was the first road trip when I didn’t even bother to pack my running gear, replaced with a cold pack and heating pad. Hopefully, I can do some walking and gym visits along the way while still battling a sciatica issue in my left leg. I took along three last days of steroid medication, but beyond that was expecting pain and frustration. Lunch was at Freddy’s in Ocala, before I took over the wheel, just another pound added to my already overworked, under-exercised and growing frame. Fortunately, traffic was not an issue even in the typical rough construction spots like Sarasota and Tampa. I was pleased with the rental upgrade, offering plenty of room for hanging clothes and survival supplies like water and Diet Coke. A chocolate shake was my Freddy’s splurge on top of the cheeseburger and fries. My wife’s app got her a free burger.
Our first Georgia stop was a rest area, followed by a brisket sandwich at Buc-ee’s – no road trip is complete anymore without a stop to visit “The Beaver.” That put us just a little over an hour from our overnight stop for manicotti, Buc-ee nuggets, and the Olympics. Vodka, wine, ice cream, and Limoncello made for a restless night’s sleep with an upset tummy. I got up for a walk before we made our way to the next Buc-ee’s for breakfast kolaches.