We settle into a really great routine in the south. Not having to think about or deal with really foul weather and freezing temperatures helps a lot. Our routine includes a daily dose of activity on most days. We play pickleball twice a week for about 2 hours each time. I do Zumba on Monday’s and yoga on Wednesday. We bike on Saturday or Sunday. And Rudy tops up his schedule with golf. We really enjoy the active opportunities here. And being outdoors as much as possible is great. Don’t forget we walk the dog twice daily without fail. That’s a must.

But in addition to physical activities we have a few more things we like to include. Since we are in a new (to us) area we explore. This week for example we drove to Cocoa Beach. We loaded up a beach bag and our travel coffee mugs and Molly. And we headed to the coast. It was a cold day (13C) and the locals were hunkered down indoors with the heat on. We took the opportunity to check out the beach with Molly. Mostly all beaches are no dogs allowed but there are a few that have dog areas. I get it. Some people don’t stoop and scoop. That would gross me out to no end if I put down a beach chair and hit a land mine. Yuck. The surf was wicked and the tide must have been in as the strip of sand to walk on was narrow. The mighty sea is a force. There were even signs posted on how to escape a rip tide. There wasn’t a soul around and we had a short walk. Having taken the scenic route to get there we returned home via highway. The beach strip is familiar as it’s the same in all beach towns. Funny how that is. https://www.brevardfl.gov//ParksRecreation/South/ParksInIndianHarbourBeach/Canova

Yesterday I took advantage of the 26C sunshine and lounged poolside. Our neighbours were getting a new roof so I was super glad to have the noise canceling headphones (thanks Rudy … birthday gift). It was such a nice day we decided to take a late afternoon stroll with Molly. We headed to Celebration. It’s a Disney community (a small town population of about 7K) that has a man made lake in the shape of Mickey Mouse ears surrounded by park and a walking path. There’s a quaint town centre with a couple of water features, restaurants, cafes, boutiques and an ice-cream parlour. We do our lap around the lake and then enjoy an ice cream. There’s tons of people doing all kinds of things. There’s bikes and scooters to rent. There’s benches and rocking chairs along the path and in the public squares. There’s a park with a pavilion and playground and sports courts. It’s a people watchers paradise. https://celebration.fl.us/

We return home and play cribbage (another birthday gift … thank you Rudy). Rudy wins both rounds. He says beginners luck. I say whatever.

Tonight we are heading to Lakeland. It’s about 40minutes away towards Tampa. We are attending a screening of “Fly like a Girl” at the historic Polk Theatre. https://www.polktheatre.org/. It’s a documentary produced by a local company and the directors and producers will be there tonight at a red carpet event. We will likely grab a bite somewhere beforehand. The theatre is located in the downtown area where boutiques and restaurants are crammed in around the many small lakes. There’s even a bird sanctuary lake that we stumbled upon by accident last year. And while at the Swan Brewery we were told how the swans were donated by the Queen of England many years ago. (I doubt that would happen now as she’s a bit tucked with the US thanks to Meghan).

An adventure awaits around every corner … there’s never a dull moment. Unless we want one that is.

Last year Rudy agreed to join a list of ex-footballers who could be contacted as needed by current players. Talk about things. Give advice. Whatever. It got Rudy thinking about the concept when a young player reached out requesting a phone meeting. Are retirees a vast pool of untapped skill and knowledge? So we discussed.

Ok boomer.

That’s a saying now. The younger generations use it when boomers make comments. Like we used to eye roll and groan when our parents talked about the hardships of their youth. Like walking uphill for miles (both ways) to get to school. Or we never even had a (insert here … car, tv, vacation ….); so just be grateful.

It isn’t until you retire and feel like you still have more to give that you realize no one cares. Same as us when we were actively working. And the mentoring programs started popping out. Teach others how to succeed. Tony Robbins and his ilk made more than a meal out of that notion. But are the mentees listening? Do they even care? They just want to snap and skip the years and the tears. Bingo! You’re at the top. Easy peasy.

I suggested to Rudy that it was easier to mentor an athlete (my theory) because they were already used to being coached. He could use all of the football comparisons and apply them to business. The young man who contacted Rudy had completed his first year as a pro and was now starting his first job post season. I’m sure Rudy has flashbacks. How do you transition from such a rigid routine where your daily schedule is planned out for you 24/7 to setting your own agenda and goals. Not easy peasy at all.

But here’s the other thing about retirees. They want to help out. And feel useful at the same time. Most have given dozens of years of dedication to a career. The pouf! One day it’s gone. Does their sense of self and purpose leave too? I’m sure it does in some cases.

I had an idea to start a temp agency to fill part time employment gaps with seniors. Obviously it wouldn’t be for a roofing gig. But it could be to drive the team and their gear to the jobs and ensure they were productive. I think there’s a mega untapped opportunity for the skills shortages out there. Retirees are ready and willing. They don’t want or need all the perks younger employees demand. In many cases they would volunteer or accept in kind Remuneration. They are reliable and responsible. They are still able to contribute.

A mentor with benefits if you will. No strings attached.

Rudy did encounter the one slight snag. Technology. Boomers are (for the most part I think) not tech savvy. They’re happy to get their preschool grandkids to program their phone or iPad or other device/gadget. Like we used to program the VCR for our parents. Or teCh them how to use the remote control.

Ok boomer. You have your limitations. But you’re still trucking.

Carpe diem!

The ad caught my eye in the local paper. It was a large ad announcing live music and gorgeous sunsets overlooking the lake. And drink specials. Sounded to me like a perfect way to spend a few Sunday afternoon hours.

We decided to go. It was too hot to go for a bike ride or hike with Molly. 29C and sunny; perfect weather for a Sunday outing on the lake. We hop in the car for a 20 minute drive to Haines City. Very much like Davenport, it seems Haines City is more like an area than a city as we think of cities. Traffic lights. Downtown. Homes and businesses. The gps leads us to a remote road where various signs declare dead end. We shrug our shoulders and continue on. You can see by the digital map in my car’s navigation system that we are driving out to a peninsula surrounded by water. Also typical of this area.

As we reach our destination on Shady Cove road we notice more modular homes and cottage (rustic shacks) types packed into dense lots. There’s a large hand painted sign declaring “bikers welcome”. There’s also a traffic jam. Dozens of cars, motorcycles and golf carts (the transportation of choice for locals it seems). We are in line to enter the parking lot of the tavern. It’s packed. There’s a burly biker type guy that’s semi directing traffic. When we pull up front I ask him where we can park. He creates a spot for me and says “your ass end is sticking out but people can still get by”. Then he adds “there’s a paper inside for you to sign … to bad about Frank E”.

It suddenly occurs to us. We are crashing a wake for Frank E. whoever that is. He’s got a lot of friends.

There’s people everywhere. All shapes and sizes. All white. Bikers. Beach bums. Older folks with mobility aids. We look at each other and wordlessly know what we’re thinking: WTF. We squeeze into the bar area (it’s a double wide with a lanai and a large outdoor covered patio) there are three (very sweaty) ladies tending bar and it’s jammed with people buying buckets of beer and shots to salute Frank E. There’s a small shrine set up at the end of the bar with a floral wreath and done photos and the paper to sign. Someone in charge of the guest book blew it ..the paper was not surviving the traffic.

Armed with our Buds we head out to the patio. We wind our way to the perimeter dodging the dance floor where very robust ladies in tanks and shorts are twerking to Def Leopard and Lynard Skinner. Tables are packed with people and overflowing ashtrays. The DJ (a scraggly scrawny hippie type) has set up a stereo system surrounded by plastic containers of cds. Thousands of them. I guess the live music was cancelled for Frank E.

I whisper to Rudy that we are in the twilight zone. I wish we could take pictures. Worth more than a thousand words for sure. No one would believe this!

As we sipped our light beers we examined the crowd. The more we looked around the more we decided that it was like a house league baseball event in Rockwood or Acton. We even started to nickname some of the clientele. At this point I really wished my friend Cathie was there; she’s my partner in crime in these situations. Meanwhile my sister is texting about the NFL score. I send her a cryptic reply “you won’t believe where we are … I’ll get back to you”. Rudy goes for more beers.

There’s a few dew rags, some skull rings, a KC Chiefs top and matching purse and sneakers, a few Trump 2020 ball caps, goatees and handlebar mustachios, tank tops and flip flops, and sweat. Everyone is hot.

The sounds are also interesting: rumbling and banging Harleys, loud music, people shouting. And then the arrival of the “Swamp Wagon”. An Everglades airboat pulls up to the dock and unloads it’s passengers and two crew (wearing their identifying bright orange Swamp Wagon tees). They head into the bar and join the fray. After a while (and a couple of quick beers) they announce “free boat rides” and few partiers grab their brewskies and head to the dock to board the Swamp Wagon. They pull gently away and as soon as feasible the captain drops the hammer and they blast off leaving a fanning spray of Lake in their wake.

Rudy goes for a final beer. No more for me. I’m driving. He comes back after a while empty handed. Apparently there was an issue at the bar. The three sweaty ladies serving lost track of inventory and they suspended service (amid a very frustrated and sweaty mob of customers) in order to figure things out. Chaos. The score of the game is 24-0 for the visiting team. More chaos for Chiefs fans.

I offer Rudy the rest of my beer and we head out. Back to the burbs for a beer and wings at the local sports bar. We leave the twilight zone thinking we may give it another try without Frank E.

We’ll see.

And the Chiefs end up winning.

It’s funny in the sunshine state how many little towns have “winter” in their name. Today we ventured to Winter Garden. It’s about 20 km north of us and there are several routes you can take to get there. We chose the scenic route and were not disappointed. It’s a quick moving two lanes that travels north off 192. It winds through countryside some wild some tame and passes by dozens of new housing developments. It’s amazing the building going on here. I still clearly remember coming one year and the malls were dead; it was like a deserted island. Not anymore. Things are booming!

Winter Garden is a quaint town with a historic town centre. The cobble streets are packed with refurbished old buildings that house bustling shops and restaurants. We ventured here once last winter when we joined our pickleball friends for a bike ride. The heart of activity is in the Plant Street Market. https://crookedcan.com/plant-st-market/ this totally hip spot is anchored by the Crooked Can Brewery and has shops and eateries with indoor and outdoor seating and bike racks. Dogs are welcome too. (We left Molly at home in the AC as it was 29C yesterday)

We strolled through the market looking for a quick bite and settled in the butcher who’s special was brisket sandwiches. Rudy fetched us a couple of beers to go with. It’s civilized like that: enjoy a beer with your lunch; no issues. The sandwich was huge and delicious. After our snack we walked over to the farmers market. We were there just before closing at 2 pm. A lot of produce vendors were sold out or cleaning up. There’s a huge variety of wares from fruits (including fresh coconut water right out of the husk) to baked goods (gluten free, keto, vegan …), to jewellery (they had pickleball bling?!?), boiled peanuts and orchids. There’s live entertainment where you can grab a coffee and chill to live music in a shady area. Very cool.

The old buildings in town are neat. There’s an old post office, train station (and even a train); it’s very picturesque and reminds me of Niagara-on-the-Lake. The Main Street (Plant) has a tree lined boulevard. The street is cobbled. There are no trucks allowed (it’s narrow) but golf carts are welcome. Aside: I wondered why a rental home I looked at in the area had a golf cart included!). There’s shops and boutiques and cafes and bakeries … a wonderful place to putter and meander. The Christmas decor was still intact and although it was daytime I could envision the night light display.

We decided that it was the perfect place to bring our friends when they visit next month.

I can’t wait to go back.

My folks celebrated their 61st wedding anniversaries this week. The plural is intentional; they were married twice. My mom is catholic and my dad evangelical therefore the church wasn’t keen to marry them. Somehow they were able (after marriage classes for my dad and a promise to let any kids be catholic) to marry in the church. They were also married at city hall.

My dad didn’t have a lot of time. He left his job digging uranium in Elliott Lake to go back to Germany. He wanted to see if my mom was still interested (after two years). He was heading back to Canada to take a job in the same factory as his brother. A German owned bearing beating manufacturing firm called FAG.

Dad called on mom and her family and asked if she wanted to marry and head to Canada. She said yes. My dad also got the blessing from her parents. He promised his father-in-law to protect her forever. My dad is a man of his word. They got hitched and a friend of my moms hosted a small party after the ceremony. My aunt (moms sister-in-law Ava) was the maid of honour and dads best pal, Gunter, was the best man.

Then dad sailed back to Canada to a new town,new job, new digs. And waited for his new wife. She followed a few months later in March.

Yesterday on my daily checkin phone call I asked how their anniversary was. Dad said we had a little toast and then we kissed. Mom said dad made her a piece of meat for lunch. Sounds like a perfect anniversary to me. Even if I did have to remind them. A few times. I guess after so many years you don’t dwell on the number. Like birthdays. When you’re first married you’re giddy and,frankly, celebrating that you’re still together because god knows there were a million reasons to bail. Then after a few more years you’re celebrating overcoming the early years. We are at the stage now (32years) where we are grateful for each other. It’s a good place. Mom and dad have moved on from that. Still grateful but now it’s more dependent for survival. They are a team.

Rudy’s folks were married for 75 years before Stella passed at 93. That’s the long haul. We are lucky to have such lasting love relationships to guide our way.

My dads a bit sad these days. His brother is ailing and getting steadily weaker. There’s no diagnosis or treatment that he’s been given. They suspect IBS. I hope they can manage his pain. He too is married; 65 years I think. Another life story.

Cherish the one you love. ❤️ happy anniversaries mom and dad!

Most of the time I would say ripping off an uncomfortable bra and putting on lounge wear. But today I say: QX70. That’s my car. Rudy had a friend drive it down to Florida for us and they arrived yesterday. I’m now a free agent. Tom Brady should love it, too.

A car provides independence and options. While it may sit idly in the driveway most of the time, it’s comforting to know that I can dash here and there anytime I want. Sharing a vehicle is trying. We all have our routines and schedules; sometimes the option to bust loose is necessary. For example today. Rudy is golfing (with his buddy who drove my car) and they drove off in Rudy’s car. I was happy to walk the dog and hang out to finish my book (a meh James Patterson who set up the next instalment unashamedly) but now it’s time to take care of business.

First stop: car wash. There’s a fabulous in and out service near our place. For $30 they made Rudy’s car gleam. Now it’s my turn. Then a couple of quick errands before I return home to fetch Molly.

Next stop: dog park. Without a car I would be strolling Molly around our neighbourhood and that’s a fine walk. But with wheels we can venture to the dog park and decide if it’s a ball chasing kind of day or leisurely walk around the 2km trail. Either way, Molly gets the things she loves: me, a cat ride and a walk. Perfect.

And then: perhaps a short drive to the liquor store for some Baileys. It’s time for a mini celebration.

I’m ready to roll.

Women and men are just different. We know that’s true and everyday the anecdotal evidence piles up. It’s not a bad thing at all. It’s balance and it’s necessary. Of course there’s always exceptions to any sweeping generalization. But here’s my personal take.

Women like to shop. Men buy. Women can spend a lot of time browsing. In fact, when the sales clerk (if there is such a thing these days) approaches and asks if you need help finding something women will say “no thanks I’m just looking”. Men will likely say no too because they don’t ask for help (or directions). Men beeline to the shelf they need. Pick up the first item they see and they’re done. In the past, I can’t even count the number of times my mom has complained about my dad buying weird stuff: he meant to buy cream cheese and bought whipped icing, he wanted to buy vegetable oil and bought peanut oil. Doesn’t read the label; just buying. Women can take forever looking at and comparing products; we shop. Rudy always asks me if I’m shopping or buying. He can gauge his timing that way to avoid frustration. Smart guy. Yesterday I told him I wanted to duck into a store to look at quilts. He asked how long I would be. I said not long … but I was shopping. He came into the store to find me. I have a feeling this entire discussion can be reversed if it’s about things that actually interest men such as sporting goods, electronic gadgets and (for some) tools.

Rudy got “Hallmarked” to the nines over the past few months. We watched every cheesy movie there was. Every now and then we had to throw in a movie for his palate. He likes action and violence. Swearing is also good. At my folks place at Christmas the guys were delighted to watch Die Hard. Girls were on their devices pretending to be into it. Right now we are thoroughly engrossed in The Americans, a long running series that was unavailable in Canada on our system. This show satisfies men and women in that there are complex personality and emotional matters intermingled with outright violence and intrigue. The writers have engaged their diverse audience.

Last night we FaceTimed with friends who we didn’t get a chance to see over the holidays. We got on line and they were having technical issues at their end. Trying to get the right set up was frustrating for the guys (they don’t need perfect to chat) and they carried on a meaningful (eye roll) conversation about football. It occurred to me that Rudy has had no one to really dissect the Grey Cup and NFL with. It was pleasing for me to listen to their banter and enthusiasm. No small talk …just talk. When they had exhausted their sports rundown one of them asked: “So what do you girls want to talk about?” Good question? World peace? We were just content to see each other and smile (or make silly faces). Had we been talking it would have been rambling emotionally driven philosophical verbal ping pong. Perfectly pointless.

As much as I love spending time with Rudy I recognize that there’s a need for variety on both our parts. He needs man time and alone time as do I (female time). Sometimes I like shopping rather than buying. I’m glad we’re different.

Go Bills!

We can all see more clearly now that we have 2020. A phrase we coined a long time ago is “clearly its cloudy”; it came up time and again during a legal matter. Lawyers use the word “clearly” a lot when trying to emphasize their point. But there’s always two sides in litigation so the opposition counsel is using “clearly” a lot too. Hence: clearly it’s cloudy. Depends what angle you see the situation from that determines your take.

Rose coloured glasses are a sure way to see the good. Not necessarily always the best choice as we all know. The other saying is “hindsight is 2020”. Clearly that’s true. But even so we don’t always learn from our past experiences and choose wisely going forward. Sometimes it’s more convenient or less painful to see what we want to see.

Another saying “mother knows best” is way of telling us that experience has value. But nonetheless we try our own path only to prove to ourselves. It’s called adulting now I think. Back from the era where mothers (usually more than fathers since mothers did the child rearing) gave their opinion and layer down the rules but still let you have enough rope to have free will. Nowadays mothers and fathers keep the rope and do everything for their kids thinking it will be better. We can see how that’s working out.

So in the land of retirement we are looking at the year ahead and planning our life. It’s a lot different than working that’s for sure. The planning is fluid and relaxed. There’s no pressure or deadlines. The options are infinite. Well almost. Here’s my short list of goals:

1. Read more. And not just novels. Something informative and thought provoking. Maybe even Michelle Obama’s drivel.

2. Learn something new. I’m thinking Krav Maga. Physical and useful. Last year we learned pickleball and it’s a game changer for us.

3. Purge my closet. We’ve really pared down but there’s more work to do. And it’s not only clothes that’s in closets. Reduce the stuff.

4. Get a job. I started volunteering at a local artisans market before we left Canada. I will likely go back. But I’m on the lookout for something (strictly part time) where I can apply my skills.

5, Less screen time. It’s easy to fall into the device vortex as we rely on it for everything. But if I work on numbers 1 to 4 diligently I think screen time will evaporate some.

Happy New Year!

We’re here. After what seems like weeks on the road. Since we left our house Dec 12 we have been roaming around. Finally on December 30 we are back on terra firma.

The owner of our rental home has done a lot of work. New exterior paint and all new flooring on the main level. Goodbye broadloom!! It looks great. And will be a breeze to clean.

Getting the bike rack off the car was a bonus for Rudy. He thinks the car has more pep now. I think he’s right but it’s him that has more pep .. I’m sure he worries nonstop about the safety of the rack. With it off he can breathe a sigh of relief.

Molly is right at home again too. While I unpacked and sorted she went to bed. She loves the main floor arrangement. She can keep an eye on things from her beds vantage point.

It’s hot. 27C when we arrived. After the unpacking session I’m a sweaty mess. But I drag my dampness over to Target to grab a few essentials. Rudy said to take my time but I know he’s hungry. He would like a real meal. On plates. With regular cutlery. I get what I need and head back.

I make penne with pesto. A big salad would have been great but I can’t buy bagged salad. I’m too leery. Rudy opens a bottle of pink wine and we enjoy our first dinner. It’s great to be back in the land of sun and fun. Forecast today is mostly sunny and 27C

Happy New Year!!

We left Virginia (it’s true btw that Virginia is for lovers) at around 9:30 am today in the drizzle. Just a light mist that made my hair go wild. Molly wasn’t interested in her food whatsoever, but managed to squeak out a meagrely 318. Luckily for us, Frank prepared our windshield with rainx and new wipers! Totally made our day.

The highway was busy in both directions. Steady streams of cars doing 130 km per hour. It was kind of awesome and made me secretly wish I had my car. Rudy was driving so we listened to another episode of the podcast. It’s getting more intriguing and makes us realize that slow deliberate governing is not always bad. I’m not sure I entirely trust Huawei at this point in the story. But I’m impressed at the Vancouver real estate market; I had no idea it was so crazy!

Our first stop for a quick fill and change of drivers. The drizzle has stopped but I’m a frizzled mess from the humidity. It’s 23C and my feet are sweaty in my winter Merrill’s. I have created a driving playlist for my leg of the drive. And the GPS is programmed to our days destination: Santee, SC. I crank the stereo and head out. We drive along I-95 for a bit then the gps tells me to turn off which I do. Rudy is questioning the decision but conceded that I’m driving. We end up on a backroads two-laner that cuts through some very humble neighbourhoods. Rudy and I refer to these as “love shacks ” (it’s about all they have going for them … well that and Jesus). We must have passed a dozen churches. Anyone not on the road was in one of the churches. Oh. There was also one mall that was packed with sinners.

When we get routed back into the interstate we see the accident that the gps avoided. Clever girl. We jump back on the US version of the autobahn and do carpool karaoke. Well I at least do the singing and wish like heck my sister was on board when Bohemian Rhapsody comes on. Rudy cringes inwardly. Then outwardly. I’m oblivious. I morph from Freddie to Elton to Carly and never skip a beat.

There’s showers at times but it doesn’t slow the drivers. Unlike the autobahn where left lane losers are punished, on the I-95 it’s dog eat dog as drivers from everywhere (according their licence plates) cut each other off and pass on the right. Ruthless jerks. I glance over to see poor Rudy with white knuckles even though I’m driving.

It’s only a few miles to go and Rudy has game day on his mind. The NFL is in playoff mode and this weeks games are decisive or duds. Rudy cheers (mostly) for Pittsburg and there’s an outside chance they could clinch a playoff berth. That is if they win. And if another team loses. And if Bill Cower sees his shadow … it’s very bizarre how the playoffs shake down. Anyway, since I was driving, I shave quite a bit of time off our ETA and we end up well in advance of the afternoon late games.

While Rudy gets us unloaded in the room I take Molly for a walk. She’s been such a good traveller. Luckily there’s a lot of green space at this stop as it backs onto a golf course. Molly’s sniffer is in high gear. We walk around the property and she sniffs another dogs poop. The code word is “yuck” and she usually backs away. Today she dropped onto the ground sideways and rolled in the shit. She’s never done that. Clearly I’m in the doghouse and now so is she. It drives me nuts that folks don’t stoop and scoop. Really.

When we get back to the room (it’s a motel and we’re parked in front of the room) I wait outside with Molly and ask Rudy to bring me the dog bag with her gear. I have pet wipes (thankfully) and will need a few. I use wipe after wipe until there’s no lingering brown stain or smell. Then I drag her into the room and use soap and water. It’s essential that I get her scrubbed because she sleeps in our bed and spoons with me. There are no words. All of this action is taking place while I have to pee desperately; I’ve been holding it all day. As usual. How do I spell “relief”. P.

Game day is a bust for Pittsburgh. Better luck next year.

Molly is fast asleep. On our bed.

Our landlord texts me to say the house is ready and waiting for us.

FFY. Can’t wait. Our Gypsy days are over. One more sleep.