What's in your Bucket?

 My grandson, Dennis (who caught a 14" bass  his first time out), likes to go fishing with grandpa.
The other day, on our way home, empty-handed, from (shark) fishing, I took him to the local seafood store to see all the varieties of fish in the case. I bought some red snapper for dinner. He asked for a piece, which he took home.  My daughter says he insisted on cooking it himself. When I asked him how he liked red snapper he said, "It was good; I like the skin!"

He is going to be a fine fisherman some day, especially as his attention span improves. My previous experience fishing with kids is that at age 7-8 they are good for 1/2 hour of casting and reeling, then become more keenly interested in throwing rocks in the water, scaring away any hookable fish that might have been lurking nearby.  It takes a lot of sitting and waiting quietly to become a real fisherman.


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On somewhat parallel thread, last Tuesday, I was sitting at my regular corner stool at Dunn-Gaherins -- my favorite local Irish pub -- when a party of folks came in. 4 young people and one older guy. From the conversation, I could tell that it was the old guy's birthday. I offered to move down a few seats so they could all sit together and talk, whereupon they bought me a beer. (Sometimes a good deed can be rewarded). The old guy sat next to me and told me that it was his birthday. "How old are you?" I asked.

"Eight-four," he said stirring his martini. (He had asked them serve it in a bourbon glass, because his hand shakes and he didn't want to spill any). "These are my grandchildren," he nodded to the young folks who were smiling and giving him their full attention.

This gave me a new item to add to my bucket list: "Celebrate 84th birthday at a bar with grandkids."

Update 3-25 One of my math wizard friends has reminded me that Lila will only be 18 when I am 84.  I may have to ammend the bucket age to 87.  Scary. 

The Grass is Always Greener

My wife thinks I am crazy because I keep looking at part time job postings on Craigslist.

"Why do you want to go back to some hellhole?" she wonders. Good question.

The simple answer is: I don't know. The more complicated and (potentially fictitious) reason is that I am  looking to find my place in the cosmos. One thing seems clear. I am restless with my status as "Retiree".

Being retired from the world of work is wonderful in many respects. You can sleep as late as you want in the morning. You have time to read the print versions of 2 papers, and have an unhurried breakfast. You can pretty much plan your day - take a walk, have lunch with friends, go to a movie.

Theoretically, you can golf and fish and wander around to your heart's content. You don't have some crazed boss demanding a status report, or wondering aloud at the staff meeting why your numbers aren't better. You don't waste two hours a day sitting in traffic. For once in your life, you finally have enough time for those extended trips to exotic places that you always talked about.

 
On the other hand, there are some drawbacks. You can't just sit around reading for hours on end and communing with nature every day, or napping like the cats. Anything gets boring if you do it day-in day-out.  Traveling can become both a distraction and a delight, but it does not fulfill you - unless you consider checking-off your bucket list as fulfillment.  And, there is the little matter of money.

If you are retired and rich, it makes things much easier.  But if you retired, collecting social security and have less than mega-millions in your  IRA, you are forced to make some trade-offs.   You cannot afford to travel all the time, and you cannot shop for trendy clothes or afford $40 haircuts anymore.

When I was younger, I was fulfilled by spending time in the garden and maintaining the grounds. I never thought of working in the yard as work because I enjoyed it thoroughly. Work is what someone else makes you do.

Nowadays, I don't anticipate Spring the same old way. The optimistic joy of gardening has gradually given way to reality-based discouragement, the groaning of stiff knees, achy backs and wildly unpredictable weather.

I have become pessimistic about climate and cynical about politics and skeptical towards anyone who claims to know the truth, has a cure for psoriasis, knows the secret to riches, wants to manage my money.
Parkinsons Law states that work fills the time allotted to it. There is a corollary to free time. If you only have one thing to do today, it will take all day to do it. We retirees are always complaining how busy we are.

Working people envy retired people. Buy after you have read two papers end-to end and checked the status of the markets, and taken a brisk walk, met friends for lunch, and so on, there is still a vague sense that something is missing.  It's that old feeling that you occasionally felt on the job that you were accomplishing something bigger than just staying busy.

Some mornings on my walk, I find myself looking at young people driving by, dressed for work with a tinge of envy. I know that odds are good that  they are probably on their way to some hellhole where the boss is overwrought asshole and the coworkers are backbiting shits.

But I can't help wondering if just maybe someone is actually  going to a place where the work is interesting and rewarding and their workmates are bright and positive with good sense of humor. To me, that would seem to be a pretty good way to spend one's day.