Be Thankful, Delay Nothing, and Phew!

    Probably an African sunset but let's pretend it is the dawning of a new day.

This has been quite the final quarter in the year. While at least half of us American voters are mourning the election results (as of today, she's ahead by 1,000,000 votes) and are bracing for a new year that resembles nothing we'd recognize outside a horror movie, in our little piece of the world we've been playing The Waiting Game. You've probably played it;  most adults have. Seems as one ages, we wait for less fun reasons. Not for exciting birthday surprises or delicious early Christmas mornings or yummy potato latkes or visits from goofy bunnies delivering painted eggs.

As you age, you wait for medical tests, medical consults, medical results.

Where'd the fun stuff go?

After an MRI months ago determined R has cancerous lesions in his prostate, we waited for a high-tech biopsy of the lesions so we'd know their seriousness. The rankings were not all that good. Next we waited for scans of R's body to determine if the cancer had spread. It had not. Phew! That's the good news. Now we wait for follow up appointments and a referral to a surgeon and all that goes with surgery.

This is what I've learned so far about playing The Waiting Game --

Real living felt suspended until we knew the outcome of the recent scans. Our usually 
resourceful,


forward moving, planful selves lived on "pause." Two people who had extensively traveled 
had trouble deciding to take a three hour trip to Portland or to attend a movie. I anticipate we'll pause again, many more times before the process is over.

During the first month when we were processing fresh diagnostic information and then again the last week before results, sleep bandits appeared on irregular schedules, robbing us of needed rest and leaving nightmarish dreams in their wake. I began to accept that purplish circles under my eyes would be mine forever.

Days moved at a glacier pace; time became a type of enemy for it allowed too much room for anxious thoughts, distressing possibilities, scary scenarios. Happily my thoughts about the outcomes were way scarier than the reality.

It is best to meditate, practice mindfulness, and strike a zen-like stance -- but that can be difficult to do when grim possibilities are a reality. 

And it is always good to be grateful. 

What's the point of telling this tale? Perhaps it will prove helpful to someone to know others struggle. 

But my main point is that in life, especially in retirement, delay nothing if you can. Pursue 
every activity, interest, hobby, any of it that you've considered or wondered about because 
life can quickly change and push you into The Waiting Game.
Have a grateful Thanksgiving and delay nothing. Good advice bears repeating.

   Because you can't experience too much beauty.

When is Someone Geriatric and What Does It Mean That I'm Asking This Question?

   Glacier National Park. The park is absolutely geriatric.

I recently saw the movie Bridget Jones's Baby. Given the movie's tile, it is no surprise that Bridget has a baby. What is surprising is that Bridget's obstetrician refers to Ms. Jones as a "geriatric mother." Geriatric? Bridget is 43. Ok, I get that she is over 40, pregnancy is riskier, her eggs are aged, the baby is at potential risk for something. But geriatric?

Currently, my awareness of the term "geriatric" is heightened because of a recent trip to Glacier National Park. Glacier is stunningly beautiful. It is also cold, windy, foggy, steep, and home to bears - big grizzly and smaller black. Because of the bears, we decided to hike in Glacier with a guide, figuring we'd appear less appetizing to bears if a person with bear spray was leading us through the woods. Or maybe we figured the bears would go after the guide first. Who knows? We signed up for a group hike and were joined by a chatty, fun couple from Baton Rouge and an experienced hiking couple from Colorado and our guide, a young guy in his 20s who'd grown up in Montana and appeared unfazed by bears.

Off we went in the guide's shuttle bus to the trailhead of one of Glacier's most beautiful hikes. As a group we seemed pretty happy, easily keeping pace with our youngster guide, talking as we hiked, taking in the scenery, swapping stories about potential knee and hip replacements as well as travel and hiking tales. Then we stopped for a water break and the guide spoke the unthinkable.

"The person who schedules hikes was teasing me this morning. She said I had a geriatric group of hikers. I told her that was funny. Geriatric."
He meant us. They'd been talking about us. We were six geriatric hikers.
Everyone politely laughed. But the word stuck with me -- geriatric.

Even though the guide sort of insulted us, we still liked him and gave him a cash tip, though I thought about giving him a "word" tip, something along the lines of "If we are able enough to hike in Glacier and have cash for your tip....maybe you don't want to label us geriatric" or something like that but you get my drift.
But I didn't. I just stewed instead. My 62 year-old self was wounded.

Later when I was reunited with my IPad, I typed a simple phrase into my safari search engine --
"At what age is someone considered geriatric?"
Safari supplied the answer -- 65 years of age or older.
I had my answer or at least an answer. My husband is geriatric and I'm not. 
That still feels wrong.
But phew anyway.
Happy upcoming birthday to my geriatric husband.

   This guy lives in Yellowstone and is probably geriatric.

In Retirement, Delay Nothing, Especially Adventure

    Mala Mala friends

For the life of me, I can't recall why we delayed traveling to Africa. Perhaps because of the distance? Could be for it is far from the states. We took two overnight flights and one inter-country flight just to arrive within an hour's drive of the first camp. Diseases? Possibly for Ebola and Zika have been recent problems, though Zika is active in the states, too. Unrest? Yup, like the rest of the world issues exist with bombings and kidnappings, though mostly in Northern Africa with more petty crime in South Africa and elsewhere. But of course, these issues exist worldwide, too.

A year ago we traveled to Peru -- Lima, Cusco, the Sacred Valley, Machu Picchu, a really average trip in my book rather than to Africa and I can't recall why we selected Peru rather than Africa. Safety? Fear? Hmm.

What I do know is that I'm already scheming on how I can return next year, hopefully to Botswana and South Africa. Aspects of safari camp life, early morning game drives, toilet stops behind trees and bushes, things I thought would be off-putting, did not bother me. I found 6:30am drives peaceful, almost magical times, as the sun inched into the sky and some animals foraged about, others hunting for their first meal of the day. I found the chilly, at times cold, African winter mornings bracing and beautiful. There is nothing artificial about Africa. Ok, we did stay in really nice camps complete with a chef and staff, a bar, maid service and all. But the drives themselves, the viewing of animals, none of that was staged.

    African Wild Dogs off for their next meal

For instance, one morning when we set off on a pseudo Mr. Toads-Wild-Ride first through a dry river bed, then up the rocky river banks, plowing over various shrubs, the LandRover bumping crazily from side to side, I thought what fun as we tracked a pack of African Wild dogs as they zipped from feasting on their morning kill to their high speed search for their next meal.

While the experienced rangers and trackers have an idea where they might find wildlife, each day presented surprises, even to them. One morning we came upon an almost comical stand off between a young lioness and an enormous, disinterested rhinoceros, she seemingly thinking he might be breakfast and he, presumably, thinking her plan was just plain silly given their tremendous size differences. Once he stared her down, horn aimed at her head, she retreated, the stand off over.

    Cubs nursing

One late afternoon, we watched an aging lion rouse himself from his rest, lumber to the 
water hole for a long drink and then head back to finish off his partially eaten Cape Buffalo carcass only to find a pack of hyenas stripping the carcass bare. The lion roared, some hyenas scattered while others continued feeding.  As we quietly watched that day's installment of nature's best drama, our ranger whispered "This is very special to see." He was so right.

   Hyenas feeding on the lion's kill.

Then there was the afternoon when we pulled out of camp heading for the bush, when our ranger quickly did a u-turn and a bit breathlessly said "A leopard just killed an Impala close to camp." Moments later we were witnessing a young female leopard, plucking fur from her kill before she started biting into the Impala's hindquarters. We watched as she broke open
 the rib cage, pulled out the animal's intestines, ate her fill. She then began the exhausting process of dragging the kill, which was more than double the leopard's size, toward the protection of a tree for hiding from bush scavengers. Exhausted before she could safely tuck the carcass on an upper branch, she left it on the ground, had a rest....and eventually lost her precious kill to the opportunistic hyenas. Thus is life in the African bush.

   Leopard resting while moving her kill.

Don't delay adventure or anything in retirement. I'm so happy we did not delay visiting Africa any longer.

    Mala Mala's beautiful boma where we ate dinner.

African Adventure: How We Spend Retirement $$$

    Another beautiful sunset

I'm sitting on our tent's deck, a long ago memory drifting into focus. I'm remembering riding on Disneyland's Jungle Cruise, meandering down a river populated with animatronic hippos and elephants and various caricatures of safari life. 

I hadn't  thought about the Jungle Cruise ride in years.  My current setting is far from a Disneyland attraction. I'm at a safari camp in South Africa, the real deal. A Go Away bird cries its call, hardly a song and more the wail made by an upset human baby. Playful Vervet monkeys overhead in the trees jabber as I watch a herd of elephants across the dry river bed, lumber toward  tasty green trees. It is winter in South Africa, the dry, brown season and we're enjoying, really basking in our first visit to the continent.

I feel like I'm in the land where time stood still, primitive, wild, leafy vistas dotted with bobbing giraffe heads as they nibble on tree top leaves. Though we are in a private tented camp reserve, it is far from primitive or camping as I'd recognize it. Our tent has a cement floor, inside plumbing, a heated bed, a stocked bar and the camp itself offers a full staff, accommodating service, excellent food, game viewing drives several times a day, champagne breaks overlooking a pond where animals take in a drink while the humans enjoy a warming morning sun. Afternoon viewing drives end with cocktails while guests drink in a blazing, chilly South African sunset.

Is it clear how we are spending at least some of our retirement dollars? 

Travel.

We'll be setting off from Tanda Tula to another camp, but first a few highlights.

    This lioness actually made an attempt to attack the rino.

Uh Oh, This GEAR Thing is Out of Control

How did this happen? How have we so terribly failed minimalism?
In my December 2015 post, I confessed to all the winter GEAR that was accumulating in our garage.  Now we have more summer GEAR ( sorry, but I believe that GEAR is capitalized in Bend because here GEAR is serious business).

That's a photo of our SUV with the Hullavator on top. We need the Hullavator to haul the kayaks.

But something more has happened. I think we are suffering from GEAR creep..... an 
insidious  condition in which GEAR continues to creep into your garage.

Look at what has happened.

Now in addition to the kayaks, paddles, life vests, kayaking water shoes, and of course, the 

Hullavator we've added Pickleball paddles, balls, court shoes, and .....new road bikes (not 

to be confused with a hybrids).

What can we do? Move?

I don't know. What do you think?

In the mean time have a look at my guest post over at www.eretirements.com
Let me know what you think.

Who Needs Golf

   One of our many hikes

I've been itching to write this post. But I had to wait because I have a contract with myself --  I was required to finish writing a draft of a chapter (potential ebook about adventures in early retirement) before I could post again. Oh, you know about those contracts with oneself and their tight grip. So while I love writing and feel strongly about my topic, all manner of other distractions got in the way of finishing the draft --like having fun. Finally, I finished a good enough draft so off I go on a post.

On Retired Syd's blog Retirement a Full-Time Job (June 27) (http://retiredsyd.typepad.com/retirement_a_fulltime_job/2016/06/can-i-still-retire-if-i-hate-golf.html) Jared Scharen wrote the guest post -- "Can I Still Retire If I Hate Golf?" 
When I read the title, I thought at last, someone who speaks my language! I hate golf, too! 
As does my husband. Historically, I feared this preference placed  me in a rather sad 
minority. However, over the years I've learned I'm one of many.

But I digress. Jared is an MBA student at Northwestern who runs the website  http://www.eretirements.com which is dedicated to helping people figure out their best retirement location. Essentially, Jared's guest post suggests all kinds of activities retirees might pursue beyond the cliché golf game. Of course finding the right location is important because some retirement locations more readily lend themselves to certain activities.

While I like Jared's list of possibilities which include softball, swimming, walking, hiking, yoga, theater and the arts, and volunteering, I want to add a few more options.

During one's "Go-Go" years, the years roughly between 60 and the mid-70s when one has the most "get up and go," folks can be really active. I've posted previously about my little 
hometown and its possibilities for outside adventure. Here are a few more options for retirees beyond Jared's list. I've included activities for summer and winter.

Kayaking-- Prior to moving west, maybe we'd kayaked four times over 20 years. Now we 
own kayaks and all the "gear" and regularly head out to one of our beautiful lakes for a day of paddling. This we typically do with others, combining the activity with the social. We know folks who at the age of 70 are just taking up this sport.

    Looks fun, doesn't it?
Cycling -- Not sure how Jared left this off his list. In our little ski town, mountain biking is popular and lots of challenging and moderate trails exist. But road cycling is just as 
popular. Cycling is one of those activities that is easier on aging knees while still providing 
a good cardio workout as well as social connections. R and I just cycled our first Tour des Chutes, a local fundraising ride for cancer. While we did not break any speed or distance records, we cycled a respectable 31 miles over a somewhat hilly (it's all hilly here -- we live at 4000 elevation) course.

    Ready to cycle the Tour des Chutes

Others who rode in The Tour, were quite impressive. One, a 70 year old with spinal injuries,  road an adaptive recumbent tricycle, out cycling us by completing 50 miles. Another, an outstanding blind athlete completed 50 miles cycling on a tandem. Age, abilities or 
disabilities needn't limit choices and cycling is a sport for anyone.

Hiking -- I know Jared mentioned hiking but in the west we have real hiking. Like up 
mountains.

Pickleball
Don't laugh, there is such a game, I mean sport. Pickleball combines elements of badminton, table tennis, and tennis and is played with a plastic ball and a light -- think 7 or 8 ounces in weight - paddle. Easier on the knees than tennis and faster moving and also a 
wonderful social outlet.

    Who could resist Pickleball with its colorful paddles and balls

Winter Pursuits
Since Bend has a ski mountain and lots of snow parks, it isn't difficult to figure out how to spend a 
winters' day. Snow shoeing, which is really just hiking in the snow, is easy and almost anyone can engage in the sport. People of all ages downhill ski and cross country ski -- the sport I'm attempting to learn. We also have a community ice skating pavilion.

Less Strenuous Activities --

Book Clubs 
I'm in a book club that meets 11 times a year to discuss a book and once in December for a party. What is great about belonging to a book club, beyond reading and using my brain, is variety.  Since members nominate book selections for the year, members are exposed to books they may not have read. In the last year and a half, I've probably read five or six books I never would have selected myself. But I grew from reading something different, foreign, uncomfortable. Pushing myself into new territory and engaging in discussions, those are the benefits of book club membership.

Games
My life isn't all sports and reading. Games are excellent ways to increase social connection and keep the brain working. Where I live, favorites are cribbage, bridge, pinochle, and MahJong -- the game I play. I did not seek out MahJong, it found me and I'm glad it did. I'm not very good at this complicated tile game but I enjoy the people I play with because we laugh.

Volunteering 
While Jared mentioned volunteering, I want to expand that notion to advocacy. My husband in retirement has rediscovered his interest in politics and has pledged "muscle" -- time, money, action -- not just rhetoric to supporting political change. This he does happily. Lots of opportunities exist for helping to move the country forward in a peaceful, caring way.

Jared's eRetirements website with its focus on helping people discover their optimal retirement location is a great service. Where one lives dictates opportunities for well earned retirement recreation and bliss.

Get out there -- without the golf clubs!



http://www.eretirements.com/

A Short Book Review and the Meaning of Life

   A view from Bend earlier this year.

Since the beginning of the year, I've been traveling down the thematic path of ensuring I live consciously, mindfully, and meaningfully. My wise husband, who I've long suspected is naturally more insightful than I, even though I'm the one with the degrees and training, has pointed out that "You seem to be going through something." Yup, I'd say that's right on. Apparently, that's how I roll on the eve of turning 62.

Last post was about my mother and how I both include her in my birthday celebrations (at least in my thoughts) and feel relief at living longer than she did. Earlier in the year, I wrote a post discussing various essays and the book Being Mortal all of which focused, to certain degrees, on living fully, deliberately with whatever time we have. (See link below).

https://50bedsgapyear.blogspot.com/2016_02_07_archive.html

Buddhist monks meditate on photos of decaying corpses as a way of remembering that the physical self is fleeting. This monk photographed in Bangkok on our recent trip is waiting for a bus. Perhaps he'll meditate once onboard.

Without being entirely aware of my personal timeline, I set out in January on a mini quest to 
discover my own path toward living more completely and consciously with my June birthday as the loose end-date of the quest. In my existential trek toward more mindful living, I inadvertently saved the best and saddest guide for the last.

When Breath Becomes Air by Paul Kalanithi, MD

Since I knew how his story plays out before I read the book, I wasn't looking to learn from 
the final outcome, but rather I was seeking the emotional pleasure of joining Dr. Kalanithi's 
journey in puzzling through what makes life meaningful. My trek with him did not disappoint.

This is a rich book, one filled with thoughtful reflections and I could have filled this blog with quote after quote. But just as I plan to restrict myself to one dessert on my birthday, I decided in an effort to not spoil this book for those planning to read it to select just one quote that illuminates his message.

Toward the last third of his memoir, when he is..challenged he writes

“That morning, I made a decision: I would push myself to return to the OR. Why? Because I could. Because that’s who I was. Because I would have to learn to live in a different way, seeing death as an imposing itinerant visitor but knowing that even if I’m dying, until I actually die, I am still living" (p. 190).

I love this book. I love the essays written by Kalanithi and later by his wife Lucy. I have learned from their experiences.

But now it is time to apply all my good existential learning.
Soon I'm off to celebrate and to cycle, to ponder and to drink some wine. That's what we do at 62.