Seasons in the sunset - A seventy (+3) year old looks ahead and back

Seasons in the sunset - A 80 year old
looks ahead and back

Monday, September 12, 2011

Early Days of My Post-Retirement Career

                                    Early Days of My  Post-Retirement Career

 A short time after I retired, I applied for two jobs. The first application was to “Time Out,” an adult day care center – as the morning driver. Driving Miss Daisy, I called it. They needed my birth certificate (always a challenge to find) and my Social Security Card (hadn’t seen that in a while). I located the birth certificate, but not the SSN card. For that I sent $14.95 to the SS administration.

 Did I ever get the SS Card? Not sure.

 Anyway, a plus about the driving job was that it was somewhat like humanitarian work, and I got paid. And I thought I could contribute. I’d try to get them talking, build familiarity etc. I could do that.

 Years before, my mom had gone to “Time Out” from age 92 until age 96. She died in 1999. She had a friend there, named Frieda. They were good friends, albeit only at “school,” as she called it. But at least they knew each other's name. So I'd have much to do in the sixty minutes of travel, just keeping the passengers actively engaged with one and other.

Ultimately I got the job. Twenty dollars, for two hours per day, a hundred a week - not bad. 

Handing Out Towels - Not Qualified

I also gave my application to a local fitness center for the job of staff member on duty - the equivalent of handing out towels. The interview was not especially demanding, just general conversation and what shifts could I work.

Nevertheless when the director, Mary, asked me why I wanted the job, I hesitated. She helped me along, “For something to do,” she suggested.

I took ever so slight umbrage, because I didn’t want to be lumped in with retirees who were bored because they couldn’t think of anything to occupy themselves. Being thought of that way was not flattering, so I responded, perhaps without enough softness, that no, I wasn’t looking for something to do. I was fully active in carrying out my own “meaningful” life. I wanted the job for the money, which is what I ended up saying.   

“Well actually, I’m doing it for the money,” I said. Something like that. 

For some reason, this didn’t seem to sit well with Mary. She moved immediately from there to explain the several “employment principles” of the center – essentially, be kind, courteous and helpful at all times.

I was well aware of that as the way to behave even outside of the exercise room. Regardless, I nodded agreement. 

Anyway, I didn’t get that job.

 

You Want to Volunteer?

The third thing I did was go over to Pine Acres which was a nursing home. I talked briefly with some residents, Mary Lou, Bob, Al, Mary, Nancy etc. Mary was by far the most alert. She had five children, she said, then remembered one was killed in a car accident.

“Terrible,” I offered, “nothing worse.” My heart ached for her.

She nodded agreement, pain on her face.

“I hate nursing homes,” she said, “but my children all work. They can’t care for me.” I agreed though I wasn’t certain that she couldn’t be at one of their homes.

“Even if a nursing home is nice, it’s not home. Something about it makes you feel alone.” I said this.

“Yes.”

I stood next to her wheelchair and talked for fifteen more minutes, then bid farewell. I said I’d see her again. “Oh do,” she said in a high pitch, pleading thank-you. I recognized the tone. I had worked – volunteered – in a nursing home for over a year some years ago and was always taken by the need, but even more, the gratitude.

                I poked my head into another room. A frail, gray skinned woman was breathing oxygen, holding a plastic mask to her face. It was therapy for her lungs she told me.” Lungs are a problem as you age,” she said.

Her roommate asked if I had a newspaper. I said no, but I’d get her one. An aide was in the hallway and she saw me come out, looking around. “What does she want?” she said, rather gruffly.

“She wants a newspaper,” I said.

“I’ll get it,” the aide said, and marched away as if it was not my place to respond to such requests. I doubted that the newspaper would ever appear.

  I stayed about another half an hour – still no newspaper. On my way out I caught the attention of a middle aged woman in business clothes – obviously an administrator.  I related my story that I wanted to visit regularly and thought she should know who I was. I’d been here with my father-in-law, Max, a year previous and had the idea then that when I retired I’d come visit those confined here. I didn’t use the word confined. But thought that maybe I’d even bring Max here.

  “You want to volunteer?” she asked.

  That sounded too formal, like I’d volunteer for an assigned task, play bingo every M-W-F. I didn’t want that exactly, but I said yes. She took my name and phone number and said that someone would give me a call. I doubted it, just because she didn't look especially pleased.

 I thanked her, put on my coat and walked to my car. I thought of how fortunate I was and it registered that much of my good fortune was that I was still relatively young – 67 – and healthy.

 Yes I was a free man – I was in the world; I was ambulatory, looking at the trees, taking deep breaths, able to drive to California right this moment should I wish. Yes I was alive and healthy, and while not eternal, I retained the belief that I would never be like those I visited today.

 Silly thought. I’m sure there was a time when each of those inside thought the same.   No one ever called me from Pine Acres.


Monday, September 5, 2011

NJ to Ann Arbor - July 2011 - Day 1

We started our cross country odyssey on Thursday. Myself (the driver) and daughter Brett were in the front with maps of fourteen states while grandkids Mike (10) and Anna (9) were stuffed in the back along with four hockey sticks, pillows, and numerous carry-on size bags covering their floor space. All around, driver's seat included, legroom was at a premium.

The entire trip would cover over 3600 miles – 2800 east to west and another 800 covering a north-south detour into northern Minnesota. The starting point was the New Jersey town of Madison. We were rolling west on I 80 by 9 AM.

It was a comfortable beginning, spiked with alertness from gulped caffeine, and all aboard sensing adventure with eager anticipation.

Along about mid morning a disturbance erupted in the back. Anna had constructed a barricade along the border of her seat territory and it appeared that Mike – doubtless from boredom – was launching various attempts at breaking through the fence. The manifestation of the “attack” was twofold, Mike giggling and Anna’s soft whine – a single word repeated incessantly – “Stop!” stretched out as “Stooooooooooooooop!” with a short "o" vowel sound. This lasted for what seemed like Allentown, PA to Pittsburgh.

Near Ohio things settled down. I asked Brett for a reading – “How much longer?” Our destination was Ann Arbor, MI. We are partial to college towns with hockey teams. Five hours into our journey we were barely half way. By this time I was quivering mildly from my constant death grip on the steering wheel coupled with an unfortunate bad night’s sleep the night before.

 Regardless, I plodded on.

Ten plus hours from departure we pulled into Ann Arbor. We found a Sheraton near town, then a quick trip to a downtown U of M souvenir shop for hockey shirts where I slumped into a lone plump easy chair amid racks of yellow and blue clothing. I tried to stir occasionally lest a local beat writer spot me and draft a headline, “NJ man succumbs amid hockey tees.” 

I survived - revived, in fact, momentarily, an hour later with pasta and wine and the joy of all gathered around the table. 

Post-dinner I flopped onto the hotel bed, oblivious to my daughter’s in-room traveling ritual - scouring for bedbugs.

Morning came and feeling refreshed, I considered ever so briefly the hard facts - six-hundred miles down, thirty-two hundred to go. I banished the thought, grabbed the wheel and it was off to Chicago and points west.

Day 2 – Ann Arbor to Yacht Club

Day 2 – Ann Arbor to Yacht Club
 
                  Chicago or Indiana Interstate
We headed south on I-94 out of Ann Arbor, intent on avoiding the Chicago jam that we dove into last year. In 2010 it was a Friday afternoon, late. This year we’d hit Chicago around noon. “Probably won’t be as much traffic at this time of day,” I told Brett.

We hugged the Lake Michigan shore – albeit no sight of actual water - as I-94 dipped south then came the decision point, just east of Gary, IN: 
1. Branch off to 80 west avoiding the windy city altogether or ...
2. Head through Chicago but I-90 instead of last year’s I-94.

As with the year before we were hungering for a cityscape and so couldn’t resist settling on option 2. A bit chancy I thought but hey - I repeated one of our travel mantras, “We only do this once.” We flew onto I-90 pointing toward mid-city.  It was when we passed The White Sox stadium that I realized we were actually on the same jammed road that we traveled a year ago. My second mistake was the prediction of light traffic. It was standstill at noon.

                            Let's Get Outta Here
“OK, why don’t we get out of here and head up one of the city streets, just keep going north – keep the sun at our backs.” I looked up for the sun. I was famous for this.

“Eyes on the road,” Brett warned.

“No problem,” I said as I rolled down the exit ramp onto, “What’s this street?”

“Thirty first,” my navigator said.

“OK head east – right? – where’s the sun?” We crawled east on 31st.

Miracle of miracles, Lake Michigan came into view as 31st Street ended. “Cool,” I said.

                 Bathroom Break at the Yacht Club
The kids needed a bathroom so I pulled into a cul-de-sac next to what looked to be a yacht-club-like building – definitely a members-only-type, I thought.  Lake Michigan glistened before us. The parking lot was $19 per hour (steep for a bathroom break) which caused me to reason that we’ll be chased out of here in a “New York (Chicago) minute”, but nature’s needs prevailed so I pulled up to a yellow curb near the water’s edge, waited in the car as kids and mom trudged with held hands toward the yacht club.

Their silhouette was so touching that I felt that the club might offer them a membership along with unlimited bathroom privileges.

I waited – illegally parked – anticipating sirens any minute.

                        Special Privileges 
The sirens never came and Brett, upon return, reported – not a yacht club after all, so I decided to venture in myself. I left B and kids, advising her to tell any officials that “Grampa with prostate problems needed a bathroom.” This made me chuckle, but not them, as off I went.

I noticed a store-like room on the right side of the building and feeling emboldened strolled in. Two public-service employee types stared at me. “Did I look so un-yacht-like?”

I put on my best natural smile and soon we hit it off. They offered me directions and suggestions for walk-about activities up the road and I complimented them on their beautiful store, building, park, yacht club etc. My praise was a bit exaggerated but I was sincere and they seemed to buy it. They told me there was a better bathroom outside to the left. We bid goodbye and although I’d already used the “bad” bathroom I couldn’t resist exercising my new privilege. The bathroom to the left was nice, more suitable for yachting types – me.

Back in the car, I reported details of my excursion to all, got behind the wheel and pointed the car north, thinking about the kids dipping their toes in Lake Michigan.   

Friday, September 2, 2011

Day 2 continued ... Chicago City Tour

Day 2 continued ... Chicago City Tour
 
The yacht guys said there was meter parking up the road. Of course we couldn’t find it. We settled on the parking garage.
$16 the sign said. “That’s expensive,” said Brett.
“Hey, we’re only here once,” I muttered as we rolled into underground parking. We swirled around and down finally to a spot at level 3. A little walk, feeling our way, and we found the entrance – exit – where we marched toward daylight.
                                   Hey Maryland!
I heard someone shouting, “Hey Maryland! “Not that way, Maryland!!!”
It hit me that the rental car license plate was Maryland. I turned my head.
“Can’t walk out there Maryland.” It was a security guard.
“OK. Hold up guys," I said. 
“I saw you drive in - Maryland right?”
“Actually New Jersey,” I said, “It’s a rental.”
The guard, a good-natured soul, directed us to the pedestrian exit, one floor up. Outside on soft grass we exhaled and headed for the banks of Lake Michigan. 
It was a people friendly “park”, mainly wide open lawns with bike paths, walking trails and the endless Lake shoreline.
Anna and I walked along the roomy concrete tiers, roman coliseum-like, abutting the lake at the north side of the park.
                                   Our TV Debut
Suddenly I heard a voice, “Would you mind talking to us about the Great Lakes for a TV show we’re filming?”
Huh?
A shopping mall questionnaire came to mind. I was about to refuse but then looked up at what had to be three of the most quintessential faces of youthful beauty in … Michigan - Illinois?
“No problem,” I said then pointing to Anna, “just keep the camera on the photogenic one.”
They asked questions about pollution and endangered species in the lakes. My learned responses surprised me – really. I related tales of boyhood swimming in Greenwood Lake, NY, and its later necessary dredging. “I grew up in lake country in NY State,” I gushed. They smiled approvingly.
Truthfully I couldn’t imagine anyone that knew where the remote was not using it by ten seconds into my interview. Regardless, a successful debut, I reasoned. The film crew thanked Anna and me profusely.
“We’ll be on TV,” I said to Anna as we walked away.
“Really?” she said.
“Probably,” I said, but I didn’t elaborate.

               May I See Your Badges Please
 We strolled on, leisurely circling the grounds when suddenly around a bend we spotted a small beach.
“Probably six bucks per to get on,” I offered as we trudged over.
I approached a woman seated on a chair with a shade umbrella at the entryway steps. I recognized the type from Point Pleasant, NJ.
“Are you taking tickets, or checking badges?” I said.
She looked at me like I was from New Jersey. “You’re not?” I said. 
“It’s free,” she said.
We (kids) raced to the water where they jumped and splashed for thirty minutes. 

                It's Sea Glass                                                             
Walking back from the water Mike spotted a piece of glass the size of a corn flake. “Sea glass!” he screamed, seemingly to all of Chicago. He rolled it through his fingers like a prospector with a gold nugget. But as luck would have it the nugget slipped through those fingers as we were walking to the car.  With treasure lost, the whole family dropped to the ground and combed the grass. Many minutes went by. Pleas from Brett to “Let it go,” went unheeded.  Cars rushed by on Lake Shore Drive. Chicago rush hour, Friday PM was in full swing. We hunted on.

“Look over there; they must have dropped a diamond ring.”
“Probably.”

“OK, that’s it,” Brett said, finality in her voice.
“No,” Mike pleaded.
This exchange repeated itself several times. I was tempted to say that commuters seeing us initially were now home enjoying cocktails, but that would be a trifle overstating. Just say that we searched long and hard. Finally Brett told Mike that the glass must have fallen out earlier on our walk - not here. Mike swore that it didn’t. We continued combing. I mean – it was sea glass!

The three hour trip to Madison, WI took us six. We traveled the scenic route.

more Day 2 ... Scenic Route to Madison

more Day 2 ... Scenic Route to Madison
 
Back in the car, and refreshed – kind of - after our beach excursion I announced “Might as well head straight north, up Lake Shore Drive – we’re right here.” 
“Go for it,” Brett said. Not exactly a vote of confidence.
Kids were in the back, fixated on their hand-held game “machines.”
 
                       Mike, Anna. Look.
It was the kind of “scenic” that Brett and I liked, cityscapes, neighborhoods, beautiful homes, and moving traffic. We implored the children to see the sights. “Look at that building – park – beach etc.”  They grunted, barely lifting their heads. “You’re missing everything!” Brett said.
“We’re not,” the kids responded. Again the raised heads, maybe two seconds.
 
Lake Shore Drive ultimately became Sheridan Road, also lakeside and northbound albeit not a speedway. Sheridan brought us through well kept neighborhoods, the campus of Loyola University and then Northwestern in Evanston. We gushed over the architecture and landscape declaring every so many blocks, “I could live here.”
 
No reaction from the kids.
 
                                This Road is Great
Not familiar with the road I was anxious about a possible disaster – dilapidated buildings, standstill traffic and window washers plying their trade. But Sheridan kept rolling, snaking its way north through small towns, through country woodlands and from time to time a peek at the Lake.
Sometimes it (Sheridan street signs) vanished (Where’d it go?) or changed names and just when we panicked, it would reappear, Sheridan Road once more - still pointing north. “This road is great,” I declared.
 
                                Military Only
 We passed the Great Lake Naval Training Center in North Chicago, slicing right through the base. Squads of uniformed sailors were out on the walks. Eventually the people thinned out it and it was just tan barracks-like buildings, then finally nothing. It was here the road widened, like a parking lot, deserted blacktop that appeared to have been hit with a wrecking ball. Was this a weapons test site?
 
“Better get out of here,” Brett said.     
 
“Yeah,” I said, but I resisted. I slowed down, barely rolling.  With 3000 plus miles still to go, turning back had zero appeal. “Forward only” was our motto, but any moment I was expecting a warning: “Military Personnel ONLY Beyond this Point.”  
 
I checked the rear-view mirror. Kids were still otherwise engaged. Torpedoes could have sailed by for all they knew.
 
But then the test site gradually faded. The surroundings slowly changed and we found ourselves squinting suspiciously at a line of warehouses (storage for torpedoes?). Then a miracle, an actual conventional street emerged  – Sheridan Road - believe it or not.
 
                           Where’s the Interstate?
 The Sheridan odyssey ultimately ended just across the Wisconsin border where we opted to take a chance on a due-west tilt. “We’re bound to hit the highway sooner or later – just head into the sun,”   I said, not at all sure.
 
The gods were with us though; soon we ran into our old friend I-94.
 
                       “Oh my God, it’s Pettit, the training center”
We were sailing now, northbound, then bending west at Milwaukee, where we got a nice view of the city, then passing the baseball stadium, its lot jammed for tonight’s game. “County Stadium” was my recollection of the Milwaukee Braves’ home field in the 1950s; now it’s the Brewers and Miller Stadium the sign said. "Makes sense," I thought.
 
But the highlight of the day was passing the Pettit National Ice Center - U.S. Olympic Training Facility just west of the stadium. Brett abruptly went into hockey mom mode and proceeded to rattle on about this for most of the next 100 miles. Not really sure about all she said but I wasn’t about to say, “What’s the big deal?” Not when she's in hockey mom mode. 
Next ... Day 3, 4, 5 - Wisconsin, Iowa, and the Rockies