Part II-- How Am I Doing? Assessment of First 7 1/2 Months

This will be a two-part post. By-the-way, bed count is 94 -- but more about that in another post.


As they approach retirement, some people figure out that a big adventure, at least initially, is what they want and need. Penny and Eric at (cycle4retirement.com) decided to bicycle into their retirement (see New Retirees Head Around the World by Bike (WSJ Reports).  The Home Free Adventure folks (homefreeadventures.com) sold their home and most of its contents, stored what was left, then took off on international traveling adventures, renting apartments for a month or two at a time. They were on the road for four years. The Senior Nomads in Europe (seniornomads.com) rented out their Seattle home and set off for Europe (their home is now listed for sale) where they are enjoying year two of travel. While love of travel and a desire to see the world certainly bind these retirees, I think their stories reveal something more. These are adventure seeking risk-takers who so fully embrace the "Go-Go Years" that they, well really go! In many ways they are my heroes for they believe the phase that follows a life time of adult (and for some of us beginning in adolescence) working can be anything you want it to be. It is yours. It can be an adventure.

In 2012 after R retired and the possibility for longer travel (3 weeks! Who knew the wonders) opened up, my inner Adventure Girl was unleashed with her mission of seeing and experiencing as much of the world as she could afford. Out she sprang or leapt or flew and I've certainly been uninterested in reining her in.

While tracking how others model this phase is helpful, ultimately we must create our own model -- which is a process. R's and my entry into this phase included almost six months of travel on three cruises, two group bike trips, and visits to Portugal, Amsterdam, Brussels, Ireland, Faroe Islands, Shetland Island, Glasgow, Scotland, Copenhagen, Denmark, Oslo, parts of Norway, Iceland, Hawaiian Islands, French Polynesia (Bora Bora!), Australia, and the North and South Islands of New Zealand, not to mention a visit to NYC and other U.S. stops including a few national parks. Our model was to engage in some big adventures and then settle into a home.

Has this worked?

What has worked?

Let's find out.

WHAT HAS WORKED --

Housing -- We bought the right size house. I could have gone smaller while R finds this the perfect size. In hindsight, I could have and really wanted to live home free one more year -- that's how Adventure Girl thinks. The house works for us. Recently, we entertained 19 folks in our little cottage. We were a snug but comfortable group and told people to spread out wherever they could find space. It worked out. Want to know my two most favorite places in the house?

1. The utility/mud/laundry room that connects to the garage. Who knew a sink in a laundry 
room could solve so many of life's issues? It can't but it sure helps with laundry and other 
cleaning problems.

2. The garage. I know this space is usually loved and claimed by men but I love it. Perhaps it is because we were city dwellers for 10 years and therefore garage-less that I have such a love for our concrete space. We try to keep it neat and organized (thank you Gregg Morris for all your help and ideas).

Our town --  Bend -- We are more than pleased that we selected Bend as our home base. Many a morning, I step out into the cool desert air, look up at the beautiful desert sky and think how lucky I am.  And how much I love low humidity. It is a pleasure to observe and participate in the grandniece's growth and to spend time with her wonderful, talented parents. And despite what I thought, people (including the niece and nephew) were right about GEAR.  When we were in the midst of the house building process, locals would tell us we needed room for our GEAR. Since we were fairly GEARLESS at that point, except for our two well-worn Cannondale hybrid bikes that we'd schlepped from Chicago, I'm not sure we understood the concept of GEAR. Now we own new snowshoes, fancy, warm ski gloves, ski masks, hiking poles, hiking socks, new Trek hybrid bikes (which hang on the garage walls), an upscale bike rack for the car and kayaks (and all the necessary kayak 
stuff) which we tote with our sophisticated kayak rack. We own GEAR! As a minimalist 
wanna be, I'm certain this is not a good trend. 

Pretty kayaks hanging on their very cool racks. We own GEAR.

Next up -- Part III

Retirement Journey So Far Part 1: How'd I Do in the First Six and a Half Months?

About 15 months ago, we set off from Chicago on our initial journey into this next life-phase. R was fully retired and I was planning to live a mid-life gap year of fun and adventure. This journey included relocating to the Western part of the U.S., buying a little cottage in Bend, OR., and lots of planned travel varying in levels of adventure.

We've been living in our Bend house now for six and a half months so I'm over due for my six month check in -- to see how retired life is working for me, since I consider these six and a half months my initial retirement. As email-luck would have it, my friends at Vanguard recently sent me the article 5 Things to Think About on Your Journey to Retirement.  Perfect, I thought, I'm in the mood to think and analyze. More than half the article focused on planning basics --  when to start saving, figuring out your savings needs, calculating retirement expenses. Important stuff but not the focus of my six month evaluation. The last section grew more interesting with questions like What's your vision for the (retirement) future? Now we are talking, I thought -- let's start exploring how we want to live our lives. My interest built as I anticipated that the article's last section would help me assess and clarify how my own journey was moving along.

The final section opened with You're living life as a retiree -- finally! Is there anything about your lifestyle that hasn't met your expectations?

Great question, I thought as I read on. I'm ready to think about this.

"About five years after you retire, consider asking yourself whether or not retirement is what you thought it would be...."

Wait! What the f...? Five years? Wait five years to ask this question? Are they nuts?
Suddenly, my friends at Vanguard were not such good friends. Or at least not bright friends. They seemed to be ignoring one of the enormous realities of life -- that unforeseen events happen that can quickly change one's plans -- while at the same time suggesting that one diddle away a fair amount of precious time before evaluating how life is going. From my perspective, this is a big problem.

Let me explain.

As a psychotherapist, I'm a believer in development and developmental phases (infancy, childhood, adolescence, adulthood, etc.) in that life can be roughly and flexibly broken into stages, with attending tasks or events associated with each phase. This idea applies to retirement. Michael Stein, CFP, is often attributed with (though others may have espoused this) the idea that for most people living in retirement follows three separate age related stages -- The Go-Go Years, The Slow-Go Years, and The No-Go Years.  The related ages for each stage are somewhat loosely configured as 

Go-Go Years --ages 55 (or 60 or 65) to mid-70s. These are presumably one's most active and healthy years, when one has lots of get up and go.

Slow-Go Years -- roughly mid- 70s to 85 when for many dashing through retirement 
seems less appealing and health and general aging cause them to slow down.

The No-Go Years -- 85 to ........ when retirees just don't go much. These are more the 
rocking chair on the porch years. Ok I know what some of you are thinking -- you've heard 
stories of people in their 90s running marathons or cycling in the Senior Tour de France, or climbing the Himalayas but those folks are likely exceptions. I've also heard people anticipate their own life expectancies in retirement based on their parents. Some describe how long a parent, an aunt or uncle lived rather than how well they lived in retirement. Quality of life. My own father died at age 84 but I don't think anyone, including him, thought his last six to eight years were his best and most active.

Others never live to see retirement. My mother died at age 55 well before she could retire. I've known plenty of others who died in their mid to late 50s or early 60s never knowing retirement's pleasures. To my way of thinking, arriving at the Go-Go Years is a privilege, probably a gift and one not to waste.

Let's go back to Vanguard's idea that after five years in retirement one evaluate how retirement is progressing. Let's say Ms. Susie B., an attorney, retired at age 65 and following Vanguard's model decided at age 70 to assess her retirement satisfaction. I'm no numbers genius, but seems to me that would give her only five more of the precious Go-Go Years to adjust her course and more fully live her retirement vision. That's not much time, especially after a lifetime of work.

My advice, which is not about finances, is to spend the five years prior to retiring coming to know yourself, figuring out what you want from this phase, and creating your vision of how you want to spend those precious Go-Go Years, knowing that your ideas, wants, needs will probably change and evolve once you live in that phase. And then six months or so into retirement living (not five years!), evaluate your progress so you can adjust if needed to make the most of the 
active, healthy, Go-Go Years.  And periodically, keep assessing your life. You never get 
back any of this time.  Don't waste it.

Next post -- Assessing My Initial Go-Go Years.

Hiking on Orcas Island, WA

Life is Fun, but Sometimes Dangerous. Wear a Helmet and May be Sunglasses

In previous posts, I've proclaimed my love for Italy. Oh sure, I whined about those scary Italian drivers and my equally scary husband-driver. And about mosquitos, starting dinner at 8:30pm, limited availability of air-conditioning and several other minor issues that I can't readily recall. But Italy was fun. Beautiful food, intriguing ruins, gorgeous scenery, helpful people.  It is also where I crashed -- while cycling.

I'm a seasoned cyclist, though not a particularly gifted one. I'm what might be called an unnatural athlete, someone who enjoys a sport in spite of her varied limitations. R and I have taken many cycling trips over the past 12 years. Some were more challenging, some less so. Some overseas and several in North America. This was the first time I recall three people falling off their bikes, including me. Crashing was not part of my traveling plan nor was visiting an Italian urgent care clinic on a Sunday afternoon.

The first cyclist crashed on our first full day of cycling. She was upset, frustrated, and very bruised but she finished the ride and rode everyday the rest of the trip. The other cyclist crashed while cycling with her adult kids. She finished the day in the van but then was back at it, riding every day at least for part of the day. I must say they were more elegant "crashers" than I was, more able to take their spills out of view from most of the group, allowing their middle aged bodies their earned respect and just presenting their bruised and battered selves later for story telling during dinner.

I, however, crashed in a big, public way. Cycling along, I yelled a warning about broken pavement to the three cyclists behind me, slowed way down at the tremendously jagged, dislocated pavement, calculated how I would cross the narrow bridge in the middle and 
then crashed, full body and bike sprawled across the path. No one could miss me. Or did. I blocked the frickin path -- with my body and the bike.

R who from behind watched my terrible decent, quickly phoned the guide in the van while the guide cycling behind arrived to help assess my damage. All seemed ok until the guides, fluent in both English and Italian, switched quickly to Italian as they formulated a plan. I think the blood gushing from my face, the dent in my helmet and R's report that my head 
bounced were the ticket to a clinic visit.

I try to find the humor in the situation. Let's see -- sprawled on the path in the warm Italian sun, left knee propped on the spilled bike because I think I've broken my knee....Probably not funny. Blood gushing from my face, which I was fairly certain was from a broken 
nose....No, not overly funny. Italian soil in my mouth. Definitely not funny. Italian doctor, 
flashlight in hand, examining the inside of my mouth is see if I did bite through my lip. Oh, 
so not funny.

I guess what was slightly humorous was that I won the prize for the most public, inelegant crash as well as the one for the most noticeable wounds -- surgical tape above my lip, black eye, scraped face, scraped, painfully bruised knee, and bruised hand. Apparently, I'm 
competitive even with crashing.


But there is fear in crashing. Our bodies anticipate future experiences based on recent past experiences. Back at home, my body is hyperalert to danger, especially when I cycle.  Unlike the other two crashers, I did not cycle the last day of the Puglia trip, mostly because all my parts hurt, I was limping and unable to bend my knee.

To engage in life, to be active and participating can be dangerous. But to my way of 
thinking, it is much more dangerous not to engage, to hang back, afraid of what might 
happen.

Bits of old, probably wise, useful lyrics and sayings have drifted through my mind of late, 
including "I'm Back in the Saddle Again" "Pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and start all over again" and the just simple, plain, "When you fall down, get back up and try again."
I'm cycling again. So far not more than 15 miles. I'm on alert for oversized pot holes, risky drain grates, and mischievous gravel, in my overly active mind, dangers all. I fuss with and adjust and readjust my helmet, making sure it will not pop off if I spill. Several miles into a ride I begin to relax some and enjoy the sport again. I look forward to the day when I cycle without so much tension.

If we don't risk, we don't gain and if we don't gain....what is life?   Get back in the saddle is
 my advice to myself and everyone else, but wear a helmet and sunglasses and sunscreen, especially in Italy.

   Beautiful Puglia

Traveling With Celiac Italian-Style and screaming along the way

Recently, I've taken to screaming several times a day. It is not like I've adopted this as a hobby or something. I'm screaming because, at the moment it seems very much like I might die. So I scream. Just a good old-fashioned fear response, which has been occurring since, at the Rome seaport, we rented a small car. I've been unusually frightened ever since.

Of course my fear is occurring for a reason: Italians either drive 120 miles per hour because they believe they are Batman test driving the newest Batmobile or 15 miles an hour because that's the speed they drive farm equipment. The problem is these slow-moving obstacles are almost impossible to circumvent because those driving 120 miles per hour come flying out of nowhere like stealth bats-out-of-hell, scaring witless Americans who then become too frightened to pass the slow-moving obstacles. It is indeed a game with unclear rules. A part of this game I have figured out is that those in the Italian Batmobiles are keenly aware of the slow-moving obstacles. This I know is true because no one seems to crash. Ahhh.  Unfortunately, those of us in-between, the sort of law abiding, hapless foreigners on holiday who stupidly rented a car in a foreign country rather than taking the train and who don't understand the rules to this driving game are left panicked. Or in my case screaming.

My screaming is not planned, it is certainly not appreciated by my driver-husband, and it is wearing me out. Then yesterday, I started screaming for a new reason. Something dark, competitive, and alarming has awakened in R who seemingly has determined he'll beat the Italian Batmobile drivers at their own game. It seems the American Dark Knight has risen, looks exactly like my husband, and is driving me around Southern Italy -- but in nothing nearly so safe, or cool, as a Batmobile. During those brief moments when I open my eyes long enough to glance at the odometer, and I see that my husband is now driving 115 miles an hour with the speed edging up, I scream.  Right now, my life scares me.

All this makes traveling with celiac seem much less important and easier to handle, especially since after a day of screaming I'm much less hungry and more interested in making red wine my meal.

Back to the topic at hand we will go --  eating in Italy when one has celiac -- once we return the car. Can't wait to join the bike tour!
Ciao.

Crusty, yummy gluten-free bread in Matera.

Traveling with Celiac

Currently, the bed count is 82 -- but more about that in another post.

I'm sitting in my cabin looking out at the tranquil Mediterranean Sea watching small fishing boats chug into port. Enormous, ah well-fed, seagulls circle the boats because these birds know what I know -- Spanish seafood is delicious. Eating in Barcelona is a pleasurable feast of simple, fresh food. When I was first diagnosed with Celiac, I worried that traveling, especially to a foreign country would prove almost impossibly tricky. While staying healthy when traveling can be tricky, it has proven less challenging than I had feared -- as long as I plan ahead.

Since receiving the diagnosis in early 2009, I've had two major attacks and a few minor ones. Both major attacks were in the states and occurred years apart.  The recent one in Palm Springs, CA following a family celebration dinner in a restaurant reminded me that I best always be careful when it comes to eating food away from home.

During the years between attacks, I'd traveled to Argentina, Halifax, Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island, Canada, Ecuador, Galapagos, places in the Mediterranean, Prague, other parts of the Czech Republic, Germany, Austria, Budapest, Baja, Mexico, Amsterdam, Belgium, Ireland, Scotland, Denmark, Norway, Hawaii, Australia, New Zealand. All without any significantly detectable incident. Here are some random thoughts on how I've managed while on the road.

1. When I visit a foreign country, I'm on guard about food and focused on eating safely more so than when I am in the states. Unfortunately, in the states there are times I assume, like in Palm Springs, I know what is safe to eat and that assumption lands me in trouble.

2. Generally people in foreign countries tend to know much more about Celiac or even gluten sensitivity than people -- chefs, servers, food service workers -- do in the states. For example, eating in Halifax was easy because restaurants understand Celiac in part because a high percentage of Nova Scotians have Celiac. This holds true in Italy and Ireland.

3. For many travelers, street food is a genuine pleasure and a way of experiencing a different culture. I, however, view street food as poison and avoid it completely. Even if the vendor tells me the food is gluten free, I'm suspect of cross contamination and hidden gluten.  I limit myself to admiring the food's appearance.

4. I carry packaged food with me. Think Thin gluten free protein bars are easy to pack and have substituted for a meal in more than one country or on a long distance flight.

5. Celiac Cards!  We don't leave home without them! Several years ago, R found a web site that posts downloadable, printable Celiac cards that state exactly what I cannot eat, what I can eat, and what happens if I ingest gluten. The cards are available in every language imaginable. In a foreign country, I show the server the card who then may show it to the chef and we figure out what I can safely eat. I must say that universally, servers are happy to help me. The cards allow me to travel with less anxiety to countries where I do not speak the language.

6.  The Internet makes managing Celiac while traveling so much easier.  We search ahead of time for gluten free or gluten free friendly restaurants so that we arrive with a few restaurant options. Tripadvisor is a great resource as are the many sites or blogs written by others who have issues with gluten.

7. I've learned to ignore comments or observations about my diet. Many times I meet someone who knows someone else who is reported to have Celiac but can eat so much more than what I do. I'm glad for that person. However, I've learned what works for me and when I'm on my game, I stay safe.

Happy Travels. Gotta go. More of Barcelona to see.

Traveling With Celiac in Italy

Bed count 89. Locations of beds 87, 88, and 89 -- the magical land of southern Italy, Puglia, the heel of the boot. Let me just go on record that I think the Italians really know how to live, minus their limited use of air conditioning, terrible highway driving, and roads in need of repair. And I guess I'll add to the list their tradition of starting dinner each evening at 8 or 8:30pm which can be a bit late for an American. Beyond those complaints, I think Italy is heavenly and mostly makes up for the minuses with sunny, warm days, slower pace of life, amazing scenery, and abundant, glorious food.

On this segment of the trip, we traveled to Siena in Tuscany, the old port town Bari on the Adriatic, inland to historic Matera and then with the bike tour to small villages like Alberbello, Ostuni, Fasano, Otranto -- all beautiful parts of southern Italy, a region fairly easily traveled when one has celiac.

Here's a summary of what I've learned about dining in Italy with celiac--

1. In larger, frequently visited (think day trips from Florence) cities, like Siena that serve international tourists it will simply be easier and more convenient to find safe food. In Siena our hotel Palazzo Ravizza recommended a restaurant only a few minutes from the hotel. The restaurant owner's wife has celiac, diagnosed when she was seven. While this is an unfortunate situation for her, for a traveler with celiac it has yielded a restaurant owner who deeply understands celiac and manages his kitchen in a celiac-safe way. It was such a joy to safely eat delicious Italian food that we ate there twice and recommended it to a couple we met on a tour. His restaurant is Vivace (vivacesiena.com). The owner of Vivace recommended another restaurant that makes safe gluten free pizza. We delighted in Siena's considerable charms and  ate well.

2. In Italy, food service workers are required to understand celiac and food allergies  and in my experience they are well educated. Once I mastered the important phrase "Senza glutine" (without gluten or gluten free) and handed over my celiac card, which every server knowingly brushed away, I was in business. The Italians, no matter how limited their English wanted to help me have a delicious, safe meal. Celiac wasn't an annoyance to them. I wish that were true in the states.

3. Make friends! Not just in life but when traveling, especially in smaller cities where dining options may be more limited. Richard befriended the gregarious Italian gentleman who ran the tourist office in Matera. He recommended a wonderful restaurant, Fornaci, and phoned the chef to confirm he could accommodate celiac and to tell him we were heading his way. On our arrival, the chef came out to greet us, took my Italian celiac card, wrote on the reservation "gluten-free" and told us to come back in an hour. When we returned, I was greeted with fresh gluten-free rolls and told I could select anything I wanted from the menu and he would prepare it gluten-free. In Matera, I found gluten free heaven and excellent, affordable wine. It is very good to have friends.

    The remains of my wonderful fish soup!

4. Traveling in a country that values fresh, quality food mostly makes eating safely easier. Beyond pasta and bread, much of southern Italian cooking is naturally gluten free. Zuppa di pesce, a luscious tomato based fish chowder of mussels, shrimp, white fish, and clams is 
made without any wheat filler and easily found in many restaurants, even in small villages.
And many a small restaurant in a small village offered gluten-free pasta.

5. With some advanced notification, even organized tours that include meals will provide excellent food. I've been on tours where styrofoam-like, overly wrapped pseudo-food was presented (or tossed at me) as my included meal. Not in Italy. On a day long tour of wineries that included lunch, I enjoyed antipasto, salad, and pasta with the group and the chef asked specifically if my gluten free pasta was to my liking. It was and I came home with six pounds as proof.

    A Puglia specialty -- which is gluten-free. Black rice, vegetables, and fresh mussels. Heavenly.

6. While my preference is to be as stealth as possible about food, that often isn't possible because fellow travelers are curious about what I eat. I'm always prepared to answer questions about celiac, but I do grow annoyed when others want to know why I'm 
receiving "special" food. Thick skin is a good thing to pack when traveling.

    Seafood pasta found in the small village of Monopli.

Is it no wonder that my current day dreams feature extended stays in sleepy Italian masserias, long bike rides along the Adriatic, and multi- course meals enjoyed late into the night? Oh, Italy.

It will Probably Be Different From What You Imagine

  Oh fantasy, where would future plans be without you? Many people imagine, fantasize about life after decades of work. They envision lots of play time on beaches, long afternoon naps, endless travel, all kinds of anti-work activities, more of that most precious commodity -- free time. Humans have the capacity to predict (usually based on prior experiences) how something might unfold, how the experience will go for them. It isn't too difficult to predict how one might experience a routine trip to the grocery store or a stop at a gas station. But what about completely new experiences, those without prior experiences attached? For many of us, there are experiences we simply need to live through to figure them out, to process and understand them and to know ourselves in them. The transition to retirement is like that, at least for me.

  Prior to taking the gap-year, I read all I could find about gap-year adventures, senior gap-year adventures, retirement, semi-retirement, encore careers, re-imagined careers, passion about careers, life phases, life transitions, round-the-world travel, vangabond senior living, full-time life on the road (in addition to books on the topic I read blogs like Retirement:A Full-Time Job, Satisfying Retirement, Early Retirement Journey and HomeFreeAdventures).  In other words, the good researcher and curious part of me did her investigative work. In my active brain and electronically, I explored all sides of the stay or go question, all sides of taking a break, traveling for months at a time, becoming a permanent bum, finding new pursuits. I became a knowledge expert. As best I could, I prepared myself for this significant transition, and mostly my prep work paid off. Traveling for long stretches always comes with complications, some predictable, some not -- delayed flights, torrential rains, sketchy hotel rooms, illness, questionable, sometimes unrecognizable food  -- but most of the travel was magical. New experiences each day, lots of adventures, the delicious excitement of the yet to be known. That part of the living through experience has worked.

  Moving to a new community and new house has been.......not challenging but different from what I thought it would be.  R and I knew retirement, semi-retirement, or whatever I call this next yet-to-be-named phase would be trickier for me than for him. We are different with different needs and wants and expectations. I get that. I did not know that each day, with each experience I would be collecting data on how I want or don't want to live this phase of my life. Apparently, I'm one of the must-live-through-this time-to-know folks. 

  One of the ways I know that I'm puzzling through an experience is when I don't quite feel like myself. I'm not the Chicagoan anymore but I'm hardly settled in the new life, even though I now possess an Oregon driver's license and my passport sports my new address. I recognize my house as my house but it doesn't yet feel like home. I'm meeting new people but none know me historically, through the experiences that have shaped me into who I am. Over the years I have learned that floating in this state of not-quite-me means I'm in transition and is a necessary, if uncomfortable part of change. Who wants to wake up each morning not-quite feeling like themselves?  I'm traveling through this phase with the knowledge that I'm on my way to somewhere new, probably a place unfamiliar to me, a place unlike the fantasy. A place, since I've not lived-through it, I could not quite have predicted.  The tremendous upside is that moving into the unknown leaves me open to possibilities. 

  Last week I read Oliver Sacks' piece in the NY Times "My Own Life: On Learning I Have Terminal Cancer."  Not only was I deeply moved by Sacks describing his experiences, I found his thoughts on living till the end wonderful guidelines, perhaps a philosophy for simply living fully, especially when one is in the last quadrant of life. Here are a few of Oliver Sack's thoughts extracted from the article --

"It is up to me now to choose how to live out the months that remain to me."
"I have to live in the richest, deepest, most productive way I can."
"I feel intensely alive, and I want and hope in the time that remains to deepen my friendships, to say farewell to those I love, to write more, to travel if I have the strength, to achieve new levels of understanding and insight."

"I feel a sudden clear focus and perspective."
"There is no time for anything inessential."
"I must focus on myself, my work and my friends."
"I shall no longer look at "NewsHour" every night."
"I shall no longer pay any attention to politics or arguments about global warming.
This is not indifference but detachment -- "

I wonder if Dr. Sacks' response to this phase is different from what he imagined? Mostly, I admire his clarity of thought. To achieve such clarity is my goal.

Good morning, Bend