Thursday, December 12, 2002

a shop in Paris...this image popped up in working on another project

"Today a $10 million purchase represents a much larger proportion of an individual's net worth."

Kathy Sloane, a broker at Brown Harris Stevens, quoted in today's The New York Times

My intention was to get up early and read the paper. It was almost eight when I got up. So much for intentions.

There is thunder. And there is rain. A lot of rain. Detailing two cars have anything to do with it? If so, fine. Saves watering the lawn. Has made some winter flowers (wild and otherwise) beautiful and given us fall color that I haven't seen so vivid in a long time. If only the sun would shine so I could get out with the camera and capture it.

I decide to read the papers. I glance at the (for me) impossible crossword in the Times and work the one in the Austin paper. I don't bother with the Jumble. One piece of retirement advice I got from another early retiree was to skip the jumble clues and go right for the punny answer and forget it. I'm serious. However, this was probably the best retirement advice I got. Yesterday's Wall Street Journal had advise on retirement. "Don't." "Delay." Umm...too late for that.

I'm actually thinking a lot lately about the retirement conundrum. Because, of course, I'm going to have to give you readers an update on the whole process at the three month mark and that time looms. You are waiting with bated breath, no doubt. One of my phrases, that. "Bated breath."

So I read the paper, one eye on CNBC. I spec a laptop on Dell's site and almost buy it. Well, not really. I'm not quite ready to buy. But I do want a laptop with a wireless and wired Ethernet and I have a perverse desire to torture myself with the only version of Windows I haven't suffered, XP. XP Professional, though, is what I've a mind to get. Not yet, though. Not just yet.

FFP comes in and takes The Wall Street Journal away before I can finish it. One downside to me trying to read the papers in real time is that he does, too, and we may wrestle over the papers.

Finally, I've finished the papers. How long would it take if I read them instead of scanning headlines, the first few paragraphs of a few articles and finishing a couple?

And it's time for my workout. Later than usual. Just to break things up.

I do over thirty minutes on the bicycle and I'm dripping with sweat as I do the five lower body machines.

One success in my retirement is my workout. It may seem like trivial progress to you for three months. I've only inched up the weights and reps a tiny bit. (When I can even remember the settings from the time before.) I only go a little longer on the aerobic stuff. And never at a setting over 2 where the settings are 0 (easy) to 12 (difficult). Usually on 1. In fact, I only noticed today that there was a 0 setting or I might have used that. I have lost five pounds, eaten pretty much the same as always and I feel more muscular. I don't look muscular. Didn't say that. Some parts of my body look flabby and others skinny, none muscular. That wouldn't spring to mind. I feel more muscular is all. Not much to show for almost three months? But consider that this new schedule is to be a lifelong effort. Until I'm 80 or something. Maybe 90. The idea is to build up gradually, not get hurt. The idea is to show up. I'm happy with my success so far. Really.

So happy that I go home and eat some nachos. With a Diet Coke, though. I go outside and shoot some pictures. Because the sun is shining. And because I have a roll of 35mm I want to shoot up.

FFP goes to pick up Scott Simon at the airport. He's doing Mother Ginger for him. I stay here at the command central. I'm tracking the flight on the WEB.

My room is becoming messier and messier as I work on projects. I drag out a couple of antique laptops, Thinkpad 701C's. The batteries have produced blue and white crystal stuff. Last time I pulled them out, the batteries wouldn't hold a charge. Should have tossed them then. I do it now. But they both still boot. I decide to keep them but streamline the space they take by taking them out of their (rather fancy) leather cases. I consider giving away the leather cases but right now I just put them elsewhere. I also have drug out several boxes, including one full of pictures, for scanning for a project. So, yeah, things are messy.

I get the trash out for tomorrow, put away dishes. Seems I do more domestic things, but it also seems that more domestic things need to be done since I'm around the house all the time (messing things up).

It's time, suddenly, for a quick shower and a rush to be the first to arrive at a come and go holiday party for The Heritage Society. FFP is on the board now.

The house is on Judge's Hill and was built in 1911. It's been restored and furnished very tastefully. Even the duct work is original (although a coal furnace fired it originally) and the light switches (these funny button things). The hosts have thoughtfully posted little interesting signs about the place around for us to read. We have a designer water, munch some of the good food and talk to a friend or two. On the way out, FFP is told that soon he will be pulled into the 50th anniversary celebration of the society to do some marketing and PR. Being on these boards often has two costs: one, work; two, money. Yes, there is a price, a minimum donation for each board. This is something I would have never realized in my naive, rube from the country youth.

We go home pretty early and I read old papers, having conquered today's papers in 'real time.' At the party, FFP asked a friend if he'd seen the XL section with the 40th anniversary pictures of the Nutcracker participants. He said that no he hadn't yet read today's paper. He said it with a note of apology that I found unnecessary.

The verdict on the journal has for now been decided in favor of clemency. Although I'm becoming a recluse and more and more jealous of privacy, the need to have some writing come out of these fingertips is strong and if all I can muster is a WEB journal, so be it. Also, as I go through old files and pictures, I find the need for an organized recount of where I've been and when. Because otherwise I forget.

JUST TYPING
When it stops raining.
And the sky turns pure blue.
And you can just go outside.
And it's fragrant.
And Chalow chases the black cat.
Who retreats.
And retreats again.
Finally over the back fence.
Causing a dog across the creek to begin a bark.
When all that happens.
That's life in retirement.