Scheduling Myself

It's been a good year, or maybe half-year.  My semi-annual projects appear on course less than two months into the current cycle, and did mostly well for the previous six-month block.  Some projects easy, sure things.  Others need slow but steady.  Those have done better.

There might be many inflection points, though not overt tipping points.  I enrolled as a research subject for my state's flagship university.  It required a measure of physical activity that I could not have completed a year ago.  Some intense exercises to my right quadriceps and brisk walking over a half hour.  What enabled this was my commitment to a treadmill schedule and YouTube stretching video.  I set times to do these things, essentially appointments with myself.  I know the scheduled days but left flexibility with the times. Now I have a fixed time, rarely violated in the absence of another conflicting place I need to be.  And whether OLLI, synagogue, or doctor visits on schedule for the morning, I make an effort to walk on the treadmill first.

My personal writing has done better, though acceptance for publication has not. I get more submissions.  Enough shots on goal will eventually get through the net.  I have a fixed time to sign onto Word.  I've also tapped into the wisdom of experienced writers who do the same.  One that I admire sets a daily word quota, another writes a regular column with a word target.  I use a timer.  My intent had been 90 minutes five days weekly.  I find that my mind only focuses for about a half hour at a time.  But starting at a fixed time most days has made all the difference. 

Even recreation and personal learning get timed.  I watch YouTube after supper, usually with one long video and a few shorter.  Curiosity Stream gets watched on my smartphone before retiring for the night. I question the wisdom of this, as the blue light screen may disturb the sleep that follows, but a Curiosity Stream video remains a second tier priority.  Even sleep times, really in and out of bed permissions, have gotten fixed times.  My smartwatch tracks sleep stages, really the surrogate markers of sleep stages.  Middle of the night wakening remains unresolved.

While comfortably adapted to the unscheduled life of retirement, I realize there are advantages to a work model.  For forty years I went to work.  I did tasks assigned and undertaken voluntarily, irrespective of how I felt, either about what I was assigned to do or my self-assessment of energy.  The clock ruled.  I met deadlines.  I had times to do payroll and pay taxes.  Hospital time took place at predictable hours as did patient office encounters.  I expected myself to leave the house on time and not return until the expected tasks that should not wait until the next day had been done.  Scheduling has become harder, or more correctly, easily postponed with little immediate consequence.  But as my exercise schedule yielded its benefits over about a year, those small but consistent efforts accumulated.  My YouTube videos, plant maintenance, shabbos observance, and monthly financial review have all done better when a time is assigned to do them. I've done less well with house upgrades.  They just don't have the same priority as my health and mind, but they are reasonably finite tasks, though large ones.  I follow a timer, just don't show the same performance consistency that I have with other personal semi-annual initiatives.  No barrier to adding these to tasks I schedule myself to do.  Small consistent performance.  Large projects progress to completion.

Landscapers

Ramit Sethi who made his fortune guiding people to handle their money in the most sensible way has some reservations about owning your own home.  When he runs the numbers on the true value of home ownership, he includes real costs, down payments, mortgage, taxes, upkeep, insurance.  It does not always give the best financial return.  Sometimes lifestyle prevails.  I like having a space that is mine.  Mortgage paid off long ago.  Only one other borrowing episode to replace asbestos siding with vinyl.  Other than purchase costs, and selling costs which have not yet happened, we still have those expenses that never disappear.  Insurance on autopay.  Taxes just boosted significantly following countywide reassessment.  Upkeep never ends.  Some outlay to the plumbers periodically.  And the pest inspectors who seem to do well at keeping us free of six and eight legged vermin, frustratingly incomplete with sending the mice on a one way ticket.  We have an electrical contract, about $30 a month.  They inspect our systems for us twice a year, tell us what is wrong, which is usually more than what really needs repair, then gives us an estimate for them to fix what they say we ought to fix.  We get a second electrical, plumbing, or heating estimate from reputable contractors that always undercut them, sometimes even advising us not to undertake the project yet.  And then there is tree removal.  Infrequent but costly enough to have a place on my spare credit card that gives 2% credit for my next airfare.

And then we have the landscapers.  Some things are simply beyond my capacity, others within my capacity that I really prefer paying somebody else do.  I still have several lawnmowers, including one that probably runs.  My lawn gets mowed weekly by a different, more limited landscaper. It gets fed a few times a year by Lawn Doctor so it will grow faster and need more mowing.  But twice a year, the forest primeval that has become my yard needs control.  Trimming hedges which brush my head with dew or the previous night's rain when I walk out my front door.  A perimeter of plantings along the back yard.  I rarely go to the back yard, but look out the window frequently. My garden disabled a few times with herbicide.  Gutters that have sprouted their own vines in the growing mixture that settles there.  No shortage of things to do.  Impressive bill each time, but our grounds appear well tended whenever they finish multiple tasks.  Just something the hangs at the interface of needs doing and want done.  Either way, beyond my level of skill.  In my senior years, my physical capacity to do these things has long passed.  

Portions for One

It's been a while since I lived alone for more than a few days.  Approaching my 48th wedding anniversary.  We've been apart for a few days at a time, mostly business trips.  Even our hospitalizations have been few, local, and brief.  Over that time, raising kids brought transitions.  They were around, then they weren't.  Sleep away camp for each, first one, then both.  College.  First one, then both, never to return as part of our daily household once they as they pursued their careers.  Now their children, one arrived, one soon to arrive.  One a five hour drive, the other a five hour flight.  Our daughter needed Mom's assistance and support, as a sperm bank mother who also lives alone.  

I dropped my wife at the airport, anticipating a five-week separation.  I will visit the other coast with them in about three weeks, but the logistics of her apartment require me to stay somewhere else each night.  Still, we can eat our meals together while we share newborn care that week.  Safe arrival of wife with daughter confirmed.

That leaves me living by myself for a few weeks.  I started immediately upon returning from the airport by making our bed.  My wife usually does this.  Tomorrow night I need to put the garbage bags and recycling in their proper bins, then wheel each to the end of our driveway.  Another wife task.

My experience living alone is considerable, just not recent and never in a spacious suburban house that can absorb me with chores.  Unlike my student days, I have few pressing deadlines and no externally imposed exams.  I also have little desire to seek recreation as an escape, or maybe supplement, to assigned work.  My semi-annual projects get pursued whether or not my wife occupies our house.  Some of those initiatives, though, move through stages better with the assistance of a second person.

The list of twelve lies to my left on a whiteboard held to a file cabinet with a magnet.  Writing to create and submit.  Might consider a day trip.  Not going to invite any friends for Shabbos dinner, though I would consider an unlikely invitation extended to me.  Exercise, sleep hygiene, and prudent eating continue, though the eating part may need some decisions.  And household upgrades, those decluttering or restoration projects, do not need a second person's help at their current stages.  My wife's car could use some attention.  I can do that.

Food will likely require some adaptation.  Supermarkets do not focus on sole occupants of homes.  Bread comes in loaves of more than a pound or as rolls or bagels in packages of six.  Maybe move half of each package into a separate bag which can go in the freezer.  Eggs come as a dozen.  In recent years, I have only made myself one at a time, but I could expand to two.  Or I could use four as a quiche or as a cake.  Veggie burgers or Beyond Beef can be separated into individual patties.  Frozen vegetables are easily apportioned.  While I usually buy potatoes or onions in a sack of 3-5 pounds, they are sold individually.  I have the option of buying one or two.  Same with apples, oranges, and bananas.  I've not seen milk sold in an 8 oz carton in a long time.  I use almost none.  Snacks, those munchies the doctor prefers I not consume, come in big packages.  So does cereal.  So does the ice cream that I buy.  A 48 oz carton will last a long time.  It may pay to spend a bit more per ounce and opt for a pint of Ben & Jerry's. Or buy a package of Klondike Bars or Sandwiches instead of a carton.  Cereal, another munchie rather than breakfast food, comes in a big box.  Coffee, my most common beverage, has many single serving options.  K-cup by far the easiest, but I also have an individual Melitta cone and a one-cup French press.  Oatmeal now comes prepackaged as individual servings.  I know how to portion pancake mix to make a single large flapjack.  I won't go hungry.  I won't waste.  What I create in the kitchen still needs clean-up.  That does not change much whether I cook only for myself or for a couple.  I very rarely eat out, though I did that more often as a student.  My kids' generation orders take-out and delivery.  I rarely do.  Might I go out for a slice of pizza more often, or go to a coffee house, or the brew pub?  Not on the plan, but it would not surprise me to default that way.

I know surprisingly few people who live alone.  My wife's in-laws are widowed, her sister never married.  Some folks from the synagogue, mostly widowed.  We once had bachelors, though most have passed away.  Almost no divorced people.  They seem pretty self-reliant.  Never asked any of them if people invite them over for Shabbos or even Seder and Thanksgiving.

On day 1, I foresee the challenge of self-reliance.  Not having my wife with me at supper or in bed will not be devastating, knowing she is alive, active, and being infinitely helpful somewhere else.  Our modern communication devices keep us in touch.  I don't see myself compensating for a few weeks of relative solitude by doomscrolling on the cell phone or laptop.  I have a firm concept and a realistic commitment to pursuing my semi-annual projects.  I'll probably make more of an effort to find some people time each day, whether at a store or synagogue, to make myself more interactive in my wife's absence.  But I really do not need significant surrogates to animate my empty house.  Just some minor adjustments to living by myself as I once did successfully.

On the Turnpike

My car has offered me freedom since I first acquired my own in my mid-20's.  At the time, I lived far from my relatives while attending school.  My univercity's city had vestigial public transit, only a bus system.  The rail line would appear decades later.  To visit my father in one city, my girlfriend in another, and my future in-laws at their home in another, would take me two days as a solo driver, though a marathon through performance with shared driving.  By myself, I would only drive long distances in daylight or not much past supper during winter's darkness.  That remains true today, after 47 years of marriage, as my wife defers the driving to me.

My car has remained my freedom.  I go anywhere and everywhere around town at whim.  Commuting during my working years got bundled into my work.  Adjacent cities, maybe a radius of 150 miles, get visited with little planning.  I've also done longer trips, those needing an overnight stay, though never two overnight stays.  This task offers a challenge.  I have destinations.  A resort, different city, wife time someplace where we've not visited before, the National Parks with auto rentals, wine country east and west.  

Until recently, as I reached my senior years, the territory traversed often captured my interest more than the arrival to a destination.  Crossing into states I'd not visited before.  Mountains.  Farms.  Roads that have no route numbers.  I've stopped for coffee at convenience stores, wondering why somebody or their ancestors opted to settle in an isolated place.

Interstates have become the mainstay of destination connections.  There seem to be two genres.  Some states, particularly NY and PA, have created dedicated turnpikes.  The NY State Thruway and Pennsylvania Turnpike each came about by intentional design. Not always what everyone regards as intelligent design.  The Highway Departments determined where the exits best belong, often scores of miles apart.  These connect to smaller roads, also operated by the state, to let visitors get to attractions or rural state colleges, often located a considerable distance from the limited-access highway.  Tolls support them.  So do franchise fees paid by businesses to market their travel services at designated rest stops.

The other format developed in a less planned manner.  Roads already existed connecting places that travelers were already visiting.  These thoroughfares received federal dollars for improvement.  The upgraded, high-speed roads include more frequent exit ramps.  Instead of dozens of miles, their town connections are usually a few miles.  Towns each have their history, but most came as a consequence of federal land parcels, towns created by railroad construction, or land grants to establish educational institutions.  These have an element of free enterprise cooperating with government.  As a driver approaches each off-ramp, the Interstate Highway System posts a sign with where drivers can find a place to eat, stay, and refuel as needed.  Most of these services come from regional or national corporations which either own or franchise the individual businesses.  As a driver, I could get a sense of what convenience stores operated over that region and gasoline that sells regionally as well as nationally.  The hotels are nearly always national, but occasionally an independent inn in a more remote area will pay a fee to have its motel on the interstate sign.

The hotels have figured out that motorists overestimate or underestimate how much distance they can safely cover.  Reservations can be made by cell phone from the convenience store or gas station before the anticipated stop, or we've just stopped and asked for a room. Sold out rarely happens.  Drivers need little more than a bed and some coffee to enable the next day's drive.  Since most interchanges have multiple gasoline options, the price stays regionally competitive.  Along the way, signs indicate attractions.  I've found a few wineries or distilleries to lightly sample as I stretch. I've made spot decisions to stop at a university I've seen play sports on TV.  The wineries in particular often situate their vineyards a few miles from their interstate, enabling a few minutes of leisurely motoring without traffic or teamsters getting their rigs as far as possible before union or ICC rules force them to drive off to where they can sleep in their modern truck cab for the required hours.

As I get older, my tolerance for time behind the wheel has ebbed.  To attend a vital family event, I drove five hours along the Pennsylvania Turnpike, coming and going.  I found the drive tedious, probably a consequence of central planning that the less planned interstates avoid.  Monotonous scenery.  State rules limit billboards, which often provide quick visual respites that benefit drivers.  Few buildings to see from the roadway.  Tunnels, four of them, offered welcome relief.  Since the Turnpike connects secondary roads, I exited once time in each direction to find a place for lunch.  These regional centers, small towns that function independent of metropolitan areas, each had convenience stores and familiar name restaurants a short drive from the interchange with easy access back.  While the state franchise fast food at the rest stops, it does not sponsor lodging.  Most of the regional towns will have the familiar motel chains or motorists can identify them online by either exiting or letting a passenger access the options on the cell phone.

I found the driving tiring, something I had tolerated much more easily during my school years, driving a similar route and beyond.  The thrill of getting there, those stops at wineries or shopping malls instead of regional convenience stores, did not happen.  No family eateries like I encountered often at Interstate Exits, which I drove from the airport to the western National Parks.  No bridges with gorges, no railroads running parallel to the interstate.  Just a conduit to get me to where I wanted to be as quickly as a car can cruise control at speed limit.  Something planned by bureaucrats and technocrats.  Functional.   Beauty and meaningful visual interest not included in the plans.