After 15 days away from home, I’m finally back in a comfortable routine. Yesterday was spent unpacking, sorting the mail, putting away Holiday decorations, and doing piles of laundry, followed by an evening of Fiddler On The Roof at the Keller Auditorium. Unfortunately, both my wife and I were a bit jet-lagged and still adjusting to the three-hour difference in time zones, so we only made it to intermission of the lengthy production. We had both seen it several times before and it’s still enjoyable, humorous, and thought provoking, even when cut in half. It was our first Portland Broadway Series show where we got there by public transportation. I was about to boast that we didn’t have to pay for parking either, but my wife once worked in the building next door and could use her parking space for concerts, plays, and musicals that we would attend.
We had frugally taken the MAX and Portland Streetcar from the airport upon our return three days ago to avoid paying for for two weeks of parking. Although living downtown is relatively pricey, we are saving bits-and-pieces by walking and commuting rather than using our cars. My car is parked over at my step-daughter’s house that we will need to retrieve today, along with Falco her puppy that we’ll be dog-sitting for the weekend. Tally, our ten-year old schnauzer, will be glad to have a companion, as she still seems to be mourning the loss of big sister Tinker. She’s also been in the hands of a sitter while we were traveling, and hopefully missed us too! We lazily took my wife’s car to get groceries yesterday to give it a little action after sitting underground while we were gone. We could have walked and pulled our cart as we usually do, but once again our aging bodies were dragging from the two-week adventure of Planes, Trains, Automobiles, Shuttles, Boats, and Roller-coasters.
We might go to a movie this afternoon that has recently become a bi-weekly tradition with our annual passes. There will be no traditional “Leadership Meeting” today because we’ll all get together tomorrow for the annual Old Timer’s Baseball Banquet. I also have a baseball card luncheon tomorrow that is now a bi-annual tradition. My wife will take Tally on her traditional daily walk through the neighborhood while I write, a ritualistic morning tradition that has been interrupted as we frequently moved hotel rooms these past two weeks. Finally, I’ve returned to the traditional downtown Portland running route and radio station after fifteen days of different routes and distances that make maintaining “The Streak” of now 4,030 days even more of a challenge. Yes, traditions and routines are important in making life easier.
Fiddler On The Roof was all about tradition, as its popular opening musical/dance number emphasizes. Here’s a family built-on the tradition of the father determining the marital fate of each of his daughters, that is eventually uprooted and split apart because of their religious beliefs. Tradition and routine gives each of us an important sense of order and comfort in dealing with the hassles and uncertainties of life. While they can become predictable and boring, it often takes a break from doing them to restore the sense of appreciation they play in our existence. Two weeks of different cities and beds, coupled with strict schedules and entertaining grandchildren make coming home a welcome treat. I’ve gladly returned to the familiar, but will soon be ready for another travel challenge and less routine tradition:
Tradition, tradition! Tradition!
Tradition, tradition! Tradition!
Who, day and night, must scramble for a living,
Feed a wife and children, say his daily prayers?
And who has the right, as master of the house,
To have the final word at home?
The Papa, the Papa! Tradition.
The Papa, the Papa! Tradition.
Who must know the way to make a proper home,
A quiet home, a kosher home?
Who must raise the family and run the home,
So Papa’s free to read the holy book?
The Mama, the Mama! Tradition!
The Mama, the Mama! Tradition!
At three, I started Hebrew school. At ten, I learned a trade.
I hear they’ve picked a bride for me. I hope she’s pretty.
The sons, the sons! Tradition!
The sons, the sons! Tradition!
And who does Mama teach to mend and tend and fix,
Preparing me to marry whoever Papa picks?
The daughters, the daughters! Tradition!
The daughters, the daughters! Tradition!
Songwriters: SHELDON HARNICK / Jerrold Lewis Bock
Tradition lyrics © Trio Music Company
This next decade is truly shaping-up to be “the sunset of our lives,” or at least mine. Some call it the return of the “Roaring Twenties.” I already addressed this in a recent post, but I also wanted to take it back another century to see if there are any comparisons. The 1820’s were relatively uneventful, filled with Presidential controversies, so some things never change. This time frame did not really provide any meaningful insight into the future. All that history can effectively prove is that the sun rises and sets every single day.
I’m looking out at a gorgeous sunset over Punta Gorda Bay, as I continue to reflect on my retirement destiny. Will we find a home here in sunny Florida? Can we live in Florida without being directly on the beach, as my wife constantly bemuses? How close to the water is accessible enough to allow enough net savings for aggressive travel spending? We just added a night in Walla-Walla, Washington to our trip to Glacier National Park to stay at the historic Marcus Whitman Hotel. We’ll spend the night at several well-preserved properties on this 1500 mile round-trip drive, including reservations at The Davenport in Spokane, and both the Izaak Walton and Prince of Wales inside the park boundaries that extend over the Canadian line into British Columbia. We’re slowly adding details to our upcoming New Year adventures. Poor Tally, our schnauzer will once again be left behind with a sitter.
Once this decade speeds by, and I rapidly approach my 80’s, it’s important that we see as much as possible before the proverbial sun goes down. None of us knows if even tomorrow will come, let alone another ten years of life. It’s just a matter of how long the sunset will last, not to mention my legs. I started the year with a rough 3.1 miles after a late night of gluttony and gruel. I was up until 1:30 a.m., although granted only 10:30 Pacific Standard Time. A sugar high woke me up at about 4 a.m., as the sweet port and Bananas Foster finally left my stomach and entered the blood stream. The highlight of the first day of 2020 was when my wife finally got to meet my newest grand-girl. It was special to get all three grand-kids, my son, his wife, and my wife all at the same table – the whole famn damily! We’ll head for Orlando in two days following a couple of realtor appointments and a dinner reunion with one of my wife’s oldest friends. We’ll enjoy the sunset from their ocean-side home on Siesta Key.
It’s officially been eleven years now since i began my running streak. I was 57 years old and living in Austin, Texas. It was the year after we said goodbye to friends and co-workers in Decatur, Illinois that continue to come in and out of our lives. Today we reacquainted ourselves with a couple we haven’t seen since then and visited their new home in Watersounds Origins, along the Emerald Coast of Florida. We’re considering this area as a permanent retirement home, attracted by the beautiful beaches and upscale neighborhoods. Coincidentally we had set up an appointment with a realtor and toured a model home just down the street from where they live. The decision my wife and I need to make is how much we want to invest of our retirement savings in a home relative to traveling the world. We can buy a nice place and stay home the rest of our lives or make some compromises to fulfill our bucket lists. It’s the classic retirement decision between memories and material possessions.
There was a cool mist in the air as I completed day #4,017 of “The Streak,” a 3.1 mile run along the sidewalks of West Destin, Florida. It’s a city that didn’t exist when my wife visited here 35 years ago and a totally unexplored area for me. I’ve been coming to Florida since I was a kid to visit my grandparent’s winter home, a mobile home in an Englewood bay-side park. It was a sharp contrast to the penthouse view of the Gulf that we experienced from our sixth-floor Sheraton Hotel room suite this morning. It poses the question of do we want a pricey view or simply more-affordable proximity to the beach? Do we want a condo, a family-friendly environment, or a 55+ plus community, where we could potentially alienate ourselves from younger friends?
This trip to the “Sunshine State” is strictly exploratory, weighing our options of where to move for possibly the last time in our lives. We’re sold on the beauty of the area and the fact that there are no state taxes, as we carefully start to spend our combined IRA. As a bonus, my son and his family live down here, but it also means putting distance between my wife and her two girls. We still have 14 months left on our Portland, Oregon apartment lease, so there’s still plenty of time to examine the possibilities. Our house sold much quicker than expected, a blessing considering our track record of poor luck in real estate transactions. Apartment life is teaching us the value of space, especially after cutting our square footage in half. A cross-country move will also be costly. but warmth is what we seek. Over the course of the next week, I will continue to run and my wife will contemplate the balance between home life and travel. I’ll be satisfied either way! In the last eleven years, we’ve moved five times, so it will be nice to finally settle down.
I’m on the Alaska flight to Orlando, after talkative Uber driver, Daniel, drove us to the airport. He was the only driver available, with a half-hour wait time. A Budget Car Rental shuttle bus was on its side, blocking the Passenger Arrival lanes. What a terrible Christmas for that driver and any passengers. We’re fleeing the gray skies of Portland in our new role as retired snow-birds.
It was the traditional McDonald’s Egg McMuffin and hash browns for breakfast. Hopefully, all the wine we packed will arrive safely, although my wife heard one of the protective inflatable packages lose some air before we handed the suitcases over to the airline. At least, it’s triple sealed in case of breakage. Otherwise, it could be a repeat of my Italy trip many years ago with my clothing soaked in fine wine and olive oil. The storage packs were a thoughtful gift from our Tucson friends that visited recently.
While in the Christmas spirit, we switched seats with a separated family, but I got stuck in the center seat that I purposely avoid because of my aging bladder. My wife is passed out in the window seat, after a sleepless night. I got a good six hours, but got up at 4 a.m. to get-in my minimum mile run and continue “The Streak” that is only a few days away from eleven consecutive years. It was cold, dark, and spitting rain, but the homeless were still up and about. Tally, our schnauzer remained cozy in her bed, reluctant to brave the elements for her appointed duty. A sitter will come to her rescue later this morning and will stay with her while we’re gone. Since this is a lengthy away-from-home stay, there are actually two women that will share this responsibility.
I’m reading David Baldacci’s A Minute to Midnight, that should keep me entertained during the 5-hour flight. I woke my wife up when I ordered us some snacks from the flight attendant. She was snoring, and is appreciative when I prevent too much embarrassment. She’ll play games while I read and write. My limited attention span requires multi-tasking, but reading of late has been a function of strictly bedtime. It’s difficult to get into a story that is consumed in only bits-and-pieces, so reading on the plane will help me keep track of the characters and avoid confusion.
I’m anticipating the joy of being at Universal Studios and Disney World with my three grand children next week after we scour the Gulf Coast for a potential retirement spot. We also have some lunches planned with former coworkers and my wife’s Butler sorority sister that she hasn’t seen since then. Her two newly- married daughters are with their dad for the holidays, so I’m her only family this year. I hope I can live up to that role after years of Christmas dinners with her mother and sister. This is my fifth year without my parents but only her first. I’ll try to keep her distracted, and at the very least this year we shouldn’t have to deal with snow. We’re now the very snowbirds that we may regret seeing as future residents.
Day # 4,010 of my running streak was completed in the rain, after weeks of somehow escaping from the inevitable here in Portland. Tally, now our only schnauzer, wasn’t happy either going out in a downpour. It certainly speeds up her sniffing-around time as she looks forward to being wrapped in a towel afterwards. There was no warm towel waiting for me when I returned from doing my 3.1 mile daily duty. Only 8 days now until the 11-year mark. That milestone will hopefully be reached in the warmer weather of Florida.
Tonight is the annual holiday dinner for our Portland clan. We joined the tradition five years ago in our move here for my wife’s job. I then spent two years working in local radio before my retirement pension kicked-in. My wife just joined me, so everyone at the dinner table will for the first time be gainfully unemployed. Her new freedom will give us much more flexibility in achieving our travel goals. Through June of next year, we already have scheduled at least a week per month away from home, including Orlando, Las Vegas, Phoenix, Tucson, Bali, and San Francisco. We’ll continue to plan for future down-time between already-booked river cruises through Egypt and Russia, plus an ocean voyage from Barcelona to Oslo, Norway.
As I dry out from my morning run, I’m watching my I.U. Hoosiers play in-state rival Notre Dame. It’s part of the Crossroads Classic that I’ve attended many times while living in Indianapolis. The second game of the annual double-header will be Purdue against Butler. The teams rotate each year, but Indiana and Purdue never play until their two traditional conference battles. Even though I.U. has only lost one game so far this season against weak opponents, it seems like they’ve badly struggled, especially considering the thorough beating by Wisconsin. They really have trouble scoring and will soon face a tough conference schedule that will certainly be challenging. Hopefully, the luck of the Irish will wait for another day.
We’ll have overnight guests tonight since the restaurant is in walking distance and the wine will be flowing. With the limited confines of our retirement apartment, we’ll have to do some rearranging and inflating in order to accommodate. We hope to have more room in our next move that could be determined in the upcoming Florida trip. We’ll explore the Gulf Coast for property options that should include a dedicated guest room and an office. Right now, we don’t have that luxury, but have already had multiple visits by friends anxious to see Portland.
Tomorrow night we’ll entertain my wife’s oldest daughter and her new husband. We’ve had two weddings this year, so there’s been extra gifts to buy. However, there will be no travel back to Indiana that has always been a holiday tradition. Our flight to Orlando on Christmas Day will start something new. We also just booked a flight to San Francisco to see my wife’s youngest daughter and husband. it will be the initial visit there since the wedding at the Presidio three months ago. All in all, there will be a lot of first-time holiday highlights this year!
It was day #4,004 of my running streak, and I clumsily tripped over a crack in the sidewalk. I feel lucky that that my fall only resulted in a skinned-up knee when it could have been much worse. The uneven, ancient sidewalks in our new neighborhood are a concern, so I’m always on high-alert. I had enough time to brace the fall with my hands, look around in embarrassment to make sure no one was watching, and then continue running like nothing happened with blood slowly trickling down my leg. It made me feel like a true road warrior, and since I always run in shorts, my exposed legs were numb from the cold. I’m sure I’ll feel it tomorrow. Incidents like this always make me appreciate how fortunate I have been to not suffer a serious injury that might force me to discontinue “The Streak.”
As I limped along, I could not help but think back to childhood and the old saying, “step on a crack and break your mother’s back.” I was curious where that silly rhyme originated and was shocked by the answer, as explained through the website Quora:
“This superstition originated back in the late 19th and early 20th century, unfortunately when racism was prevalent in society. The original unkind verse is believed to be either “Step on a crack and your mother’s baby will be black” or “Step on a crack and your mother will turn black.” Due to the fact that inter-racial marriages were frowned upon by some, it was also common then to say that stepping on the pavement lines meant you would marry a black person and have a black baby.”
“In the mid-20th century, it was common to tell children that if they stepped on any cracks in the pavement they would be eaten for lunch by bears waiting for them around the corner.”
“Another belief surrounding this superstition is that the number of cracks stepped on indicates the number of bones your mother would break. Also, it foretold the amount of china dishes that you would break.”
“There is also a belief that the cracks in the ground or pavement led directly to the underworld. Thus by stepping on them, the evil demons that dwell there would be released and bring bad luck.”
Too many times these seemly harmless childish rhymes turn out to be ugly references to the ills of society. It was like finding out that “Ring around the Rosie” is all about the plague.” I have a bit of a “rosie” or raspberry on my knee, and was just lucky that I didn’t break any bones of my own in the fall. I’ll have to more carefully watch my step at a time in life when any stumble can be disastrous. It also might be a good day for a calcium-rich glass of milk to protect my aging, brittle bones. Cheers!
Today was the 4,000th day of my consecutive running streak that started nearly 11 years ago. In fact, eighteen days from now I will reach that annual milestone, barring serious injury or death. Sickness will not get in the way – it never has. As long as I can get out of bed, I will run at least a mile to maintain this streak. I’m not sure if it’s discipline or stubbornness? I’ve now lived 24,943 days, so “The Streak” only comprises 16% of my total life, although I can’t imagine functioning without it.
After some stretching and strength exercises and taking care of the pets, it’s the first thing I do every day. I’m always anxious to get it out of the way. We’re sadly down to just one pet, so there’s no kitty litter box to clean and just one dog to care for. I’m now usually ready to run about 45 minutes after I get up every day. There’s always a sense of great relief when it is over, but it’s really the only challenge that I face in retirement since there’s no drive to the office afterwards any more. It always gives me a great sense of accomplishment, despite the straining, complaining, and grunting along the way. Some days I feel like it will never end. I’m currently stuck on 3.1 miles daily with no desire to run more than that. I also no longer participate in organized events and prefer to run alone, somewhat embarrassed about my steadily declining pace.
Everyone that knows me no longer asks if I ran that morning. They know the answer! I’m a lifetime member of the United States Running Streak Association (USRSA), committed to continue my streak for as long as I live. My efforts pale in comparison to others in this organization that include personal running streaks of 40 and even 50 consecutive years. I’m currently ranked #215, although at one point I was #202, hoping to crack the 200 mark. As you can see, there’s still some competitive drive within me. I just wish I had known about it sooner and started my streak earlier than age 57. Apparently, new members with established discipline constantly join the organization once they realize that there are others crazed with the same obsession. It does require a fee that somehow defeats one of the key benefits of running. Once you’ve invested in a good pair of shoes, you don’t need a gym membership, so it’s one of the most affordable and convenient means of exercise. As far as I’m concerned, there’s no excuse for not doing it every single day.
In a few short weeks, we’ll be off to Florida and perhaps opening a new chapter of our lives. The New Year begins with both my wife and I in full retirement, as we begin the search for a final home along the Gulf. After 32 moves, I’ll be ready to settle down. We still have 15 more months here in Portland, and each day we shed more and more of our worldly possessions. With the loss of both Frankie our cat and Tinker our oldest schnauzer, we also have fewer responsibilities. It’s now just the three of us in a two-bedroom apartment. I’m also thinking about selling one of our cars since public transportation is so easily accessible. We now have to find ways to further reduce expenses as we start to rely heavily on our lifetime savings.
Without my wife’s employment income, our four-legged retirement stool is now down to three – social security, pension, and 401k. I think we have enough savings to last another twenty years, even with an aggressive travel schedule. However, there are so many variables in life. I guess that’s what makes it interesting! Besides, “all you need is love.” All my friends are now in the process of retiring as the Class of 69 approaches age 70. I’m only 20 months away from that monumental birthday. A mere blink of an eye from what I once thought was an ancient milestone.
More and more people address me as “sir,” and want to give up their seat. It’s a good indication that I’m older than I feel and certainly not what I see in the mirror every day. I still get up every day and run, but the deterioration in my stride and balance is clearly evident. I sometimes wonder how long I’ll be able to maintain the daily streak that is nearing 11 years. Today was day #3,995 and I ran 3.1 miles. If I calculate a conservative average of 2.25 miles a day over its duration, I have traveled over 9000 miles, or the equivalent of over 3 coast-to-coast excursions from New York to Los Angeles. “Run, Forrest, Run.”
This morning is quiet, as my wife tries to catch-up on a sleepless night. She’s taken the loss of Tinker very hard. She’s also trying to find her retirement legs in making that abrupt change from a stress-filled job to a leisurely lifestyle. She met a former co-worker for their weekly walk yesterday afternoon, and I’m sure there were some reminders of her abandoned career. It took time for me to settle-in to a constructive retirement routine. Writing this blog was the key transitional piece for me in shifting down from high gear. I’m now content with reflecting about the past. Over the course of time, she will too. Tally, Tinker’s younger sister, is anxious for her to wake up so they can cuddle. Tally is also a bit depressed, mourning the loss of her canine companion. They’ll be off on a walk soon, and I’ll catch-up on the unfolding chapters of my weekly shows like the Curse of Oak Island and Vikings.
It was day #3990 of my running streak, as I wandered through the streets of McMinnville, Oregon. It’s been our home base for wine tasting these past two days and the gas alone propelled me along. I did mange to get out between rain showers in the near freezing temperatures. So far, we’ve tasted from eight different vintners plus dinner pairings, and plan on at least three more today as we make our way back to Portland. I was “key” on watching watch some I.U. soccer this morning as they play in the Sweet Sixteen, but there is no television coverage out here in the boonies. It will be another frustrating day of internet monitoring with a sporadic signal. I missed the thrilling end to yesterday’s Bucket game while we were traveling on a gravel road to our favorite vineyard. Our host was somehow able to get me the final score. It made my day.
During yesterday’s travel, we stopped to see the famous Spruce Goose that is actually made of birch and bought some custom cooking knives and a pearl Christmas Tree. My wife, the “Pearly Girl,” could not resist a little shopping along the way. We also have several cases of wine in the back of our rental SUV so we could easily accommodate the four of us, packages, and luggage. Neither of our convertibles would have worked for this particular trip. The dogs stayed at home with a sitter, her first trial with them in our new apartment.
I haven’t felt burdened with keys these past few days. One of the biggest hassles of living in a secured building is that every door requires a key or key fob. I’m always digging in my pockets to find the right one and my pants sag from the weight. I’m ready for a stylish janitor’s key ring to wear on my belt. I passed along most of my heavy keys to the pet sitter in exchange for a plastic hotel room key card I can carry in my wallet, while the valet has my car keys. As a result, my pants are staying up much better on this trip.
The new knives that we bought made me think of our plans to watch “Knives Out” tomorrow for Matinee Monday. Once again, we’ll walk to the theater. Our friends are getting a taste of big city living before they return to Tucson. I’m sure they feel somewhat trapped in our tiny apartment, knowing that they can’t get in and out without us. The trip to wine country has given us all a chance to spread out and breathe some cool mountain air. However, it’s just a bit too cool, especially for their much thinner blood from living in a considerably warmer climate. We hope that our next home will be near a hot, sunny beach. We’re “all keyed-up” to check-out the Florida Gulf Coast in a few weeks.
For some time now, I’ve been trying to come up with the word that best describes my current running style. You see, I think that running involves speed and I no longer have much of that. However, the very definition mentions only movement or action and says nothing about doing it fast. I guess I still qualify. Even in my peak, I only thought of myself as a jogger. There are those that feel that a 6-mile-an-hour pace (ten minute miles) is the dividing line between jogging and running. I guess that makes me now a very slow jogger – a slogger. Webster defines it as to plod perseveringly or heavily. I once referred to it as “chugging,” but “slogging” is a more accurate description of what I do every day. (See Post #653).
Today the weather was not inspiring as I stepped out the front door. Grey skies and a fine mist greeted my first few steps. My shoulders and back were somehow stiff with stress, despite the fact that I’m retired and relatively free of worry. My feet were numb and both legs felt like they were made of concrete. Yet, I once again persevered through three plus miles of sidewalks and pavement. I no longer have much leg lift and my feet occasionally stumble over the pedestrian path. Fortunately, it’s been awhile since I’ve actually fallen. I’m told that I’ve naturally reduced the length of my stride to help cushion the impact on my knees and hips. I’ve been lucky to avoid these problems that prevent many people my age from even slogging.
It was day #3969 of “The Streak” that started nearly eleven years ago. The United States Running Streak Association (USRSA) monitors my efforts, along with thousands of others that practice this daily ritual. They provide lists of both active and retired participants. A man of my age, Jon Sutherland of West Hills, CA is at the head of the class at nearly 50-and-a-half years (18,431 consecutive days). I’m now at 215th on the active list, having not moved up in several years. New names seem to be added as they find out about the organization because at one point I was at #202, hoping to move up into the Top 200 of the 1621 members. It would take a major injury or death to prevent these dedicated individuals above me from missing a day. By the same token, no one currently on the list can ever pass me unless I miss a day – come hell or high water.
There’s still that competitive spirit in me that wants to win. My pace is so slow any more that I’m embarrassed to run any races. A twelve-minute mile is a good day for me any more and probably enough to finish near the top of my age division. Blue ribbons and medals don’t matter if you’re just a slogger. In fact, I once thought that I’d run on more marathon before I died and maybe even qualify for Boston if I could manage a ten-minute pace (and actually be considered a runner). I just can’t seem to get any faster, and consider myself fortunate to just be able to slog along.
