Emerging from the Cocoon (7/17/12) - Two years ago in an update of my inaugural post, I bragged that I had after 22 months fully departed from the overly structured but safe and secure confines of my work world and ventured forth eagerly into the halcyon days of retirement. I was emoting over the freedom of choice and endless options that characterized my waking hours. And how I had accepted this transformation without regret, shedding the manacles of structure and flitting euphorically from one form of play to another.
However, after four years in my new world I now realize (to paraphrase Secretary Nimziki in Independence Day regarding a denial of Area 51) that was not entirely accurate. What has actually happened is that I've spun a new cocoon. Granted, the new cocoon is more pliable than the old, has impressive portability, is more work resistant and less accessible by others, and came with a great entertainment package. But it's still a cocoon, and I tend to leave it for the outer world only when
In retrospect I should have realized that I was retiring with the same hard-wired brain, in the Jungian sense, that I depended on all those work years. My day planner lists are just as long as they used to be, although the nature of the tasks is quite different - more commitments to myself, fewer to others. I find I notice as many things as ever that I would like to change about the world, though these days I usually only act on those that directly affect my well-being. And as I sit sipping my coffee each morning, I don't seem to be able to fully boot up until my plan for the day is reviewed, critiqued and finalized.
But I'm okay with all of this. Life in the cocoon is good. I've been able to squeeze a vast array of toys inside. My life-support systems are fully functional (providing ample supplies of food, meds, Wiser's Deluxe and cheesy science-fiction movies). And my family and friends are usually willing to visit me inside the cocoon or only a short distance away. What more could a body just not quite ready for complete adulthood ask for?
Chores (7/29/12) - My last discussion of this topic centered around the deep freeze of 2015 and the snow removal and frozen pipe issues it spawned. This last winter was pretty mild by comparison, so no new "weary of winter" woes. But lately I've noticed a few chronic chore challenges that seem to be getting the best of my normally rosy disposition. They are things that never seem to be done, regardless of effort or ingenuity. I call them the d--- three Ds - dusting, decluttering, and deck lights.
Now if you recall, my retirement required a renegotiation with Nancy regarding household maintenance duties. For the most part, the results of that tricky conversation have worked for me. I have approached my new duties with vigor and the philosophy of continuous improvement that characterized my work life. You know. Learn how things work, then figure out how to do them better or easier (see previous post He Has a System for Everything for a full discussion of this idealistic handicap). But my efforts to excel in the three Ds have been ineffective.
Take dusting. Tedious but simple, right? Periodically wipe down everything you own to remove any dust that has accumulated since your last wipe down. And where appropriate use cleaning agents (Pledge, Glass Plus, my Bride's all purpose homemade concoctions). But, I can't seem to keep dust away for much longer than it takes to stow my cleaning supplies. Dust is mostly just dead skin, right? That's flaked off an unknowing person or pet or other living thing and hidden out in your abode's atmosphere waiting for no one to be looking so it can quietly sneak down and cling to some prized possession that has hard to get at nooks and crannies?
What am I doing wrong? Is it my technique? Is it those dollar store furnace and airconditioning filters? Have I offended the dust gods with my frequent disparaging remarks about their domain? Whatever it is, it's wearing me out. The constancy of dust has taken the fun out of housework. And there wasn't that much fun there to begin with.
Then there's decluttering. I know, this is a self-inflicted wound. Anyone who proudly crams as much stuff into his limited spaces as I do just to show he can do it, deserves this problem.
The clutter potential of any space is directly proportional to the amount of stuff in it. And as I do my best to use all of my toys as much as possible, there's a high likelihood that a lot of items will be out of their assigned bins at one time. Ergo, clutter. Couple that with my compulsion to put all my toys away before I go to bed, and de-cluttering becomes a constant event. But I can't help it. I like all that stuff. And I need it. I just wish the Mary Poppins finger-snapping thing worked.
But the most aggravating of the three Ds is my running battle with deck lights. Let me explain. My Bride, whom I dearly love, loves deck lights. Deck lights, in turn, love to torment. And I'm not just referring to the ordeal of installing the strings - drilling many tiny holes and hand turning little brass hooks into those holes the full length of the desired deck light locations (from my reckoning, we have about 100' of deck lights).
No. The scraped knuckles, broken drill bits and life-threatening wood slivers that come with this job aren't enough. There's the post-installation bad behavior. I've learned that deck lights are just as nasty as their little cousins, those infuriating itty-bitty Christmas lights that all stop working at once when any of their number feels like taking time off. Worse, you can't put deck lights in a box in early January and lock them away for eleven months. They torment all year long.
And deck lights have evolved over their lemming-like Christmas kin. They are smarter, and quite independent. They don't all go out at once. They take turns. They want to make sure that each and every mischievous act causes maximum pain, forcing me to procure a new bulb, haul a ladder out to the problem venue, and spend treacherous moments hanging off that ladder while stretching out to wrest the culprit from its socket and install the replacement.
Further aggravating my situation are two additional factors. First, I'm now fighting this war on three fronts. We have deck lights (all different types, of course) hanging from our garage in GPW, and our deck railing and gazebo at Wiser Times. And I'm pretty sure these three rebel armies are coordinating outages with each other, communicating through electrical power cords and maybe the Internet. Come to think of it, they could be wireless.
The second complicating factor is that the manufacturers of these pernicious creatures seem to discontinue previous models in favor of new designs on about a weekly basis. So trying to buy replacement bulbs that match the old ones is futile. One has to settle for something that won't look too weird sprinkled among the old survivors. Either that or you're reduced to buying and installing a completely new set of deck lights. Doubtless they would come with even more sophisticated behavior problems.
But, I'm okay. I've adjusted. I'm not taking my 20-ounce claw hammer to the perpetrators anymore (got tired of sweeping up the glass). I'm just going with the flow, quietly searching thrift shops and yard sales and buying up a wide variety of used replacement deck lights, and cutting back on the ice in my evening cocktails. That, and looking forward to our next power outage.
Music Night (8/6/12) - But life isn't all chores and first aid. For one thing our little musical miracle is still going strong, having just completed 25 years of fun. Our latest collection - Insanity - is in production at the moment, scheduled for delivery at our next event in August. That night's topic will be Number 124 - Fascination. In honor of this topic, I'd like to share a few fascinating facts about Music Night:
--Number of unique recordings (different songs or repeated songs by different artists) that have appeared on a Music Night collection - 4174. 175 of these recordings have appeared more than once including 77 on the Music Night's Greatest Hits set from the first 100 collections. So excluding the Greatest Hits set, for which a recording had to have appeared in a previous collection, 98% of all Music Night selections have been original. Not too shabby.
--Number of evenings the Music Night group has spent together creating collections - 117. On six occasions two collections were made in the same evening.
--Number of evenings making collections with the help of an impressive spread of food and drink - 117. Average calories consumed by the group during a typical Music Night - technically, 0. I think I read somewhere that food and alcohol consumed while listening to music doesn't count.
--Number of individuals who have selected a recording for inclusion in a Music Night collection - 77. The eldest of these was my mother Dolores who made her selection at age 90. She may very well beat that record this summer as she will soon be in Michigan for a visit and will likely attend our next evening. The youngest person to select a recording was undoubtedly one of the children of our group that have joined in the fun. So far there have been 19 of these "next generation" participants, including a boy friend, a girl friend, two spouses and two guest "sons" from Germany. My guess is that the youngest age at which one of these kids made a selection was about 10. We'll have to conduct a little more research to confirm that number. That would give us a span of 80 years between the oldest and youngest participant.
--Number of venues that have hosted a Music Night evening - 15. Two Music Night families have hosted at two different homes and another at three different homes. That's really a fairly stable record I think, for 25 years.
--Number of participants at our first event in June of 1991 - six, known in the group as charter members. Number of charter members still active - five (one has sadly passed away). Number who have attended all 117 Music Night evenings - one. Guess who. Can't help it. I'm a planner. And I've been lucky.
--Number of rules governing whether or not a music selection fits with the topic for the night - 0. You pick a recording, it's in. 'Cause hey, it's a party. And this rule - the fact that there are no rules - has kept the peace all these years.
Enough catching up for the moment. I'm about to enter another three-week period of doing, most of which will be away from home. But hopefully the mobile Lab will be operational, and generate a post or two.
Grosse Pointe Charles
