OLLI Resumes

It's been a good summer off.  Made it to downstate destinations, made it across to the America's opposite coast, welcomed a new Rabbi who has made Saturday morning a more desirable destination for me.  Some of my anticipated mental activity did not fare as well, and the lazy hazy days of summer did not generate a very good work ethic.  But the fall transition begins soon, delayed a week by my long anticipated trip to Europe. 

Fall has always been my favorite season, a transition from amusement to achievement, though not to the total obliteration of amusement.  We have the Holy Days.  College Football begins this weekend.  School now resumes before Labor Day in many places, with the Back to School ads largely gone as retailers look ahead to Halloween.  And travel gets a little less spontaneous.  It's hard to be my Best Me in the hot summer.  Fall seems more conducive to effort.  And a week or so in France may be just the right inflection point.

While I am overseas, the Osher Institute's Fall semester resumes.  Three of the teachers have sent me their syllabus or introduction for four of the five classes in which I have enrolled.  Three of the four will follow a video series, either a Great Courses program with discussion or independent weekly DVDs related to the topic.  The other seems more a lecture format.  The fifth, a lecture series on the New Testament will remain a surprise until my first class.  Four of the five are on site at the OLLI Campus which immerses me with people after something of a summer lapse, only partially compensated by my renewed and honestly unanticipated affinity for my weekly synagogue attendance.

School restores a focus on work as a primary activity.  My mind engages during the class presentations, but it also engages in conversation, looking at the artwork that they hang on the walls, walking on the campus grounds wondering about the plants.  I will sometimes bring my laptop, particularly if I have two classes separated by a lunch break, or my writing portfolio if I don't.  Leaving the house to get there, about a twenty-minute drive each way, reinforces that this is a destination, one not easily duplicated at home.

So some time in France to conclude the summer, then the sometimes serious business of being an active senior.

Long Trip

Essentially allotting nearly two weeks to visit France.  Approaching the packing stage, what to take, what to leave home, what contingencies I need to anticipate.  It's been many years, probably five since my last European cruise, that I packed a large suitcase as a check-in, though for a few long drives I've put into my trunk a duffle that an airline would not allow in its overhead bin.  Rather steep surcharges deter checked baggage.  I don't know yet if I can avoid it.  On Rick Steeve's tours on PBS he tries to get his tour groups to travel light, as he does himself.  I could see if the hotel has a laundry, though not listed on its website.  I suppose if our tour moved us every 2-3 days to a different place, I'd want something I could carry, though my trip to Israel did that and big suitcases moved with us.  A baggage fee, now expected, is as good a nudge as any to be selective about what I take.  Other than my eyeglasses prescription, things needing photocopying are done.  And I have to move my spare eyeglasses from the car's center console to my backpack.  Parking documents copied, Directions to EWR parking on Waze App.  Fill gas tank before I go.  

Seasonal weather projections are about what they are at home, perhaps slightly cooler at times so some layering and long sleeve options need to be available.  Maybe only two pairs of walking shorts.  The hotel does not seem to have a pool.  It does have treadmills so include exercise shorts and a few t-shirts, my joint braces, and shoes that can go on the treadmill.  I think my usual walkers and boat shoes will suffice.  But mostly chinos, perhaps jeans, and collared polo shirts.  And I'll assume no laundry.

Tour guide and airline sent me pretrip info which I read.  For some reason my ticket has a suitcase allowance but my wife's does not.  We purchased them separately, and even adding the baggage fee, hers cost less.  Looked at the hotel's website too, and its reviews.  Hardly any mediocre reviews.  Either the guests loved it or hated it.

And some fantasies about what Paris is like.  I went out for coffee today, Panera.  Nothing quaint or elegant about Panera. At mid-morning the number of pastries on display in the case was a fraction of when I was last there.  Some breakfast souffle's in the case.  Looked a little overdone and priced considerably higher than when I last ate one pre-pandemic.  They had a few outdoor tables but as part of a strip mall, no people to watch walking by.  SF when I visited a few months ago seemed too dirty to offer outdoor seating and vagrants detracted from people watching so they didn't offer it.  I think of Paris, at least my hotel district near Champs d'Elysees and the Arc d Triomphe as having more of an urban charm.  The hotel itself seems like a mega city hotel with a breakfast buffet, more geared for a convention than reliving anniversary romance.  But it's not part of a strip mall or a cluster of places to stay off an Interstate exit.  Expect to have ample time to wander around and see how well the experience of Paris meshes with my imprint.

Still a fair number of things to do before heading there.

Take Me Out to the Ballgame

It had been years since I watched baseball from the stadium.  My town has minor league baseball, the A-division for starting players, some of whom have progressed to MLB. Not been there in a while, but always entertained when I went there.  Free parking, manageable crowds, and with just a few thousand seats, everyone gets to sit close to the field.  And they involve the community, picking out a few spectators, usually kids, to go onto the field for a small contest.  And batted balls can really come pretty close with a few homers reaching the parking lot.

Major league baseball was a springtime enjoyment when I was in my 20s.  I could walk to the stadium but after dark take the bus home for safety.  I would sit in the Grandstand for $1.50 with the other university students who rooted for their own hometown visiting teams while local people glared at us from their more costly places.

And then my outings lapsed.  I had taken my son to a major league game one time at a stadium that no longer exists, being replaced by a more state-of-the-art facility, as was the one from my student days.

As a platelet donor inducement, they asked if I wanted tickets to a game where the team would promote the blood bank.  I would be out of town for the game closest to me but I accepted two tickets to Camden Yards about 75 miles south on I-95.  Players make a lot more money now, subsidized by big TV contracts.  Tickets no longer cost $1.50, though to my surprise Camden Yards still has bleachers beyond right field.  And now a few days after the game, the experience of being there has changed considerably.

Camden Yards sits just off downtown Baltimore, a rather grimy city that has seen better days.  Apparently a Convention Center attracts enough mid-sized conferences to justify a few luxury hotels adjacent to the stadium.  Its other neighbor is the U of Maryland Medical Center, anchored by a staid old building. And the Inner Harbor, Fort McHenry, Babe Ruth House attract tourists coming for a day or two, or perhaps conventioneers wanting some sightseeing.   While getting there guided by GPS went easily, the stadium attracted a massive number of cars, something difficult for a cramped downtown to handle.  While I could see open parking spaces on lots as I passed by, and fans an hour early teeming by to see the game clad in their Orioles regalia, getting to those lots was not obvious.  I followed everyone else, never finding the driveway or side street.  But the hotels and medical center had garages.  Experienced fans, perhaps season ticket holders, parked closer, but I eventually paid the $30 for an evening in the medical center garage, employees parked on the lower level, fans on the higher tiers.  The walk to the stadium. still the daylight of a summer afternoon, was neither elegant nor squalid.  There was no appreciable litter, no aggressive motorists despite the heavy density of cars, and a mostly downslope stroll to the stadium.  Orange shirts with Orioles patterns and O's hats prevailed.  Mine was neither.  

We made it easily to the entrance, past a scalper, to the security gate.  The Orioles have a lengthy list of what must be left outside. Whether or not Maryland is an open carry state, it probably isn't, no weapons can come inside.  I had left my pocket knife in the car.  Nothing that makes serious noise, no foghorns.  I suppose they'll look the other way for a Purim grogger.  My pockets set off the metal detector, emptied to reveal my coins, keys and phone to the satisfaction of the attendant.  Our tickets were paper, most were screenshots on phones.  

We had no idea how to find our seats.  Orioles in season is a big industry.  We walked along on the bleacher side of the sidewalk.  Stores selling Oriole logo stuff on our left, massive restrooms and concessions to buy stuff to eat on the right.  The signs indicated sections with numbers under 100.  Ours was 364.  My wife and I followed people past the gate into the enclosed area.  Food concessions everywhere with somewhat excessively price beer, mass market and craft, burgers, pizza, hot dogs, chicken.  And more places to get another O's T-shirt. We figured our seat must be on the opposite side of the stadium so we headed in that direction.  Finally, somebody there to serve people rather than sell them stuff, a first aid station.  We asked the attendant how to get to our section.  It would require an elevator ride to the uppermost level.  She gave us general directions to the elevators, of which there were only two.  An attendant across from them gave us more specific directions to finding our assigned seats.  The elevator cars themselves were massive.  They also had an elevator operator managing the switches, something I'd not seen anywhere since staying at a rather snooty hotel for a convention in DC in the 1990s.  We arrived, followed signs to our section, where we found an usher to point to our seats.  He did not have the stamina to escort everyone, as our seats were in the penultimate row, a steep ascent for seniors.  But they afforded a perfect view of the skyline and of the field.  We could see the many electronic displays that rim the stadium, though a little far to read everything easily with my bifocals.  We were far enough from the field to see the whole thing from about the midpoint of the third base foul line.  No distortion at all when trying to discern team strategy.

Even though we occupied the top deck, there were still vendor stalls right outside the seating area.  What we did not have were vendors hawking soda, peanuts, more beer, and hot dogs.  My own college yearbook was dedicated to that lovely man who would sell hot dogs as he wandered the bleachers at our college football games.  In some ways the face of my Alma Mater.  Camden Yards opted for decorum.  People brought cheeseburgers and soft-serve ice cream to their seats.  They threw nothing on the floor to be swept by college kids needing a few bucks after the game.

The Blood Bank representation got the high seats.  A few messages of donor and organizational appreciation appeared.  The National Anthem was sung by a mezzo, African-American lady with a stellar voice who returned at the seventh inning stretch for a patriotic encore.  Everyone stood, caps off, no protests.  Did not see any MAGA hats or other visible political statements the entire evening.  

I found the many screens that circled the field, from scoreboards to replays to dazzling orange pleas for those in attendance to Make Noise a bit distracting.  I could see the entire field.  If balls came toward my direction on the third base side, I could see the ball.  Pitching speeds are now about 95 mph very consistently with all pitchers.  I could not see the ball moving from the mound to the plate, not sure the batters could see it to their satisfaction either, and I wonder about the accuracy of umpire judgment as a sphere moves across the plate that fast.  But for the whole game, only one disputed call, resolved in the O's favor by instant replay.

The O's got their come from behind, one run win in the end.  A lot of people exited at the same time but it remained orderly.  Sidewalks, elevators, stadium exits, and parking garage exits were all packed with people.  Despite this, the drivers all seemed courteous, pedestrians waited their turn at the lights and at elevators.  A couple of homeless people, or maybe just professional panhandlers with a place to sleep when the crowds dissipated, tried to get their needed income, though none aggressive.  Very little police presence.

In our current America, one in which the majorities people elect to represent them generate hostility as their motivator, for about four hours the people who took the evening to root for the O's got a break from that. We all cheered with the orange lights on the scoreboard said to cheer.  We left the contraband in our cars.  We didn't shove each other to get a hot dog more quickly or get the last spot on the elevator.  We had a good time.  We were nice to each other.  We had a common purpose.  If only for a short time in a confined location, but at least still possible.

Travel Security

Been to some diverse parts of America these past twelve months.  Pittsburgh about a year ago.  Then Florida's Atlantic Coast as the winter solstice approached.  Two drives to NYC.  A Me session in the Poconos for two nights.  A week's travel to San Francisco and environs in early summer.  And most recently four day trips to the farthest reaches of my home state and a day of amusement at one of America's most respected amusement parks, with a couple side ventures to places nearby.  For all these visits, I had no serious concerns about my safety or the contents of my pockets, from wallet with cash, cards, and documents to keys or cell phone.  A pickpocket could have caused great disruption but prudent precautions would suffice.  On the beaches, my possessions except for $10 and phone stayed in the car or in my hotel room.  At the waterpark, I got a locker.  My appearance looked like anyone else's appearance, only clothing with home team logo giving me away.  And even there, people relocated as permanent residents often keep their hometown loyalties, so a White Sox cap or a Celtics T-Shirt would not expose somebody as a traveler.  Expensive photographic equipment probably would announce a tourist, though for all the places I've been, I didn't see many.  To be sure, while a tourist myself in the City by the Bay, the tour buses and ferries had visitors from every part of the world, but the population of SF is also from every part of the world, creating some uncertainty as to who is really a transient.  And everyone speaks my native language.  

Undoubtedly there are professional thieves in America, some taking what is not theirs as their source of income, those descendants of Dickens' Artful Dodger perhaps, and others unemployable by in urgent need of money for one of several destructive habits.  But in America, we think of criminals as violent people who in one way or another do not look like everyone else due to some element of suspicious appearance or mannerism.

With a stay in Paris on the horizon, security concerns seem very different.  I've been abroad twice before.  First I took a tour of Israel, one where a bus took the group from city to city, never staying in our hotel more than three days.  I think of Jews as fundamentally honest people, not folks who would break into your room or distract you to remove the contents of your pockets in front of an historical site.  I stayed a few days in Jerusalem beyond the tour.  They know who the Americans are but don't seem to prey on them.

About five years ago I cruised the Adriatic, starting with a few days in Venice.  I did not think much of thievery.  Certainly the cruise ship enabled possessions to be locked, staff who entered a room risked everything for themselves if they pilfered a passenger's possessions.  It was a cashless situation.  My ship ID hanging from a lanyard could be swiped for anything that would generate a charge.  That left only the ports as vulnerable places, and I experienced some.  In Venice, St. Mark's Square had crowds and European pickpockets making their living off them.  We rode a water transit which had tourists crowded with natives.  But I did not think a lot about getting victimized and ultimately did not.

Paris seems a whole other matter.  Again, we are on a tour, so I expect considerable time on a bus, yet we are not venturing far from the city and its attractions.  Museums, towers, cathedrals all attract crowds.  Moreover, many visitors tour independently.  Just the right environment for groups of pickpockets to cooperate with each other.  One chooses a target, the other distracts, the first swipes.  And so the online guides warn us.

They know who the Americans are.  We wear baseball caps with our home team's logo.  We have T-shirts with slogans or images of our hobbies.  We carry big wallets in our back pockets.  Much of the contents of my wallet I will not need.  Some euros, but not a lot.  A credit card.  An ATM card to get more euros.  I will need my driver's license to drive to the airport and home, but not while in Paris.  Library cards, park admission cards, discount cards for the stores I shop, those can stay home.  Medicare card and supplement and Rx plan I probably could just put away once I get to the hotel.  Same with keys.  Maybe take one flash drive and enough small bills to tip drivers.  And the cell phone.  But eliminating the appearance elements of an America, that's hard.  I suppose I can take a few plain t-shirts or the ones that picture the ninja turtles, but leave the team IDs home.  But that wouldn't be an authentic me.  And while I only plan to take a few shorts, there are advantages to cargo shorts with extra pockets.  Same with trousers, even though I plan to have less in my pockets in Europe than I customarily carry at home each day.

At the advice of the online guides, I purchased two cross chest carriers, one for my new camera and its accessories, the other more all-purpose, a rectangular nylon one, water-resistant, with pockets for the cards I might need, sunglasses, perhaps phone.  Distribute one card someplace else, and euro bills in two other locations with an Eagles Money Clip.  My wallet, perhaps, or a pants pocket, or maybe not even take the wallet outside the hotel.  Copy of passport in my cross chest bag in case somebody needs to ID me.  Unless somebody looks visibly Jewish with a kippah or other attire, France is not a place where violent encounters are likely, but apparently theft is.  I'll take reasonable precautions.

Suddenly Famished

Mid-afternoon.  A half-way productive afternoon.  Decent late breakfast, a big pancake made from a mix that's now called something other than Aunt Jemima, topped with strawberry sauce meant for ice cream sundaes.  The usual coffee.  The last cinnamon roll that I bought on a recent side trip to Walmart.

Had two checks to deposit, and added some spare five dollar bills that had accumulated.  The drive through teller sits right next door to a recently remodeled Dunkin' Donuts, now rebranded just Dunkin, as the coffee they sell generates far higher profit margins than Fred was able to achieve despite his hard work making donuts in the wee hours of every morning.  Deposit made, I wanted a donut, but not from there.  I opted for Shop-Rite, where they also had yogurts on sale, and usually a tomato that appears more appealing than the ones on my backyard vines, though taste less fresh.  And maybe a bagel, which I skipped.

Back to car, ate the chocolate covered Bavarian Creme treat, Kosher certified by our local Vaad.   Did not gobble it but focused mainly on the creme.  Drove home, getting hungrier as I drove.  Put yogurts in fridge, tomato where I could easily find it for suppertime slicing.  Still hungry.  Two pieces of bread, two slices of Swiss cheese, a generous squeeze of yellow mustard.  Gobbled that.  Then a strawberry-banana yogurt, then a few fistfuls of corn chips which I dipped into a dish of commercial salsa.  All eaten quickly.  Then full.  Too full.  Not a good idea at all.

Skipped supper.  Took rest of evening for stomach to settle. 

A Different Lancaster

I drive to the Lancaster area about five times a year for many years.  I like the drive, about fifty minutes on predominantly rural roads with farms displaying dairy herds, corn fields to feed them, and tobacco to harvest and sell to support other activities.  The route takes me to Amish country east of town.  Depending on the route, often chosen by me as a path I don't remember taking before, I sometimes pass a small Pennsylvania Railroading complex with a museum and a motel cobbled from cabooses.  This time my destination was a hotel occupied by close friends visiting the area.  The GPS guided me through streets unfamiliar.  I saw a group of Hasidim with large family or campers touring a museum/farm well past the common tourist destinations.  

Lancaster seems to have several zones.  East of the city are the Amish and Mennonites with tourist attractions, ethnic places to eat, some vestiges of their unique lifestyle that people from elsewhere come to see.  Then there are places that cater to tourists, a long route of motel, chain restaurants, outlet malls, and shopping plazas with the same anchors as everyplace else.  Enter the highway, encounter some traffic, then proceed onto the city.  There really is a small city with a central area of shops and an iconic Central Market with specialty places to get lunch.  There are large employers including a renowned elite college and just past the town a branch of the state university system.  A former President's mini-estate conducts tours.  And then there is the place people live, with housing developments, medical facilities, fast food, supermarkets, and malls where people get their furniture.  That is where my friends stayed.  A suite hotel with a pool, exercise room, and breakfast area, the place where the college might house its visiting lecturers or company representatives needed to close a deal might stay.  Next door neighbors, a branch of the local medical center and a megamart.  Places to eat branches of national and regional chains.  Close enough to tourism with a car, theirs a rental. Close enough to the central city.  And close enough to the housing developments that the supermarket and retailers depend upon.

When I travel, I tend to seek out the unfamiliar.  In Lancaster that would be Amish country, maybe still the outlets, the Farmer's Market which sells more kitsch and snacks than produce, the expansive Kettle Village.  I rarely eat there, never been to Dutch Wonderland, even when I had little kids. And while I've taken a guided tour, I've not yet ridden in a buggy. Wheatland, the estate of President Buchanan is a magnificent tour that needs to be taken no more than once.  And there are the views from my windshield, Amish women harvesting the tobacco leaves, horses pulling a plow.  For me, each day trip there, really more a half-day is a little different but a little familiar.  None of it is suburban mall or supermarket.

No Responses

Electronic communications, email and social media in particular, have greatly expanded our interactions.  Presidents and Rock Stars have always gotten fan mail, perhaps even hired people to keep score on how much and what it said.  And talk radio from its earliest days have people in the audience who take it upon themselves to call in.  Now we have likes and comments.  Anybody can place either or receive either without having to be a celebrity first.  In its place we have created Influencers, people whose blogs take off or whose YouTubes of their pets capture the fancy of an immense audience.  And we have electronic communications in its corporate form.  Every corporation with a website includes a Contact Us option.

But for all the enhancements in the ability to connect, Loneliness has become more prevalent.  We want a response, but don't always get one.  My inquiry to consumer purchases gone bad mostly do not get a reply from Customer Service.  Overcharged for parking, minichopper part warped in dishwasher, camera purchase online not what I anticipated getting.  All ignored, or maybe tabulated into internal company statistics.  

Twitter, maybe one notification a day, though for good reasons I don't always open it.  Yet that is the most popular, though superficial, feedback forum in the world.  Among FB where I choose my preferred contacts, something relatively routine like a birthday greeting will get dozens of responses while experiences or ideas that are profound get none.  And Like becomes a surrogate for response, no thought involved, no exchange involved.

My Blog had a little boomlet of views last week, thirty or so a day for several days.  No comments, just views.  I don't know why.  

Maybe we are all inundated with contacts. Responses may be taking the form of lottery or other game of chance.  It might happen, and for some Twitter presences it will happen, but only in one direction.  It's not really an exchange.  The people who have hundreds of followers accumulate them by doing other things more vital than Tweeting.  They rarely tweet back.

My professor once described type 1 diabetes as starvation amid plenty.  That's where our electronic interactions seem to be headed.

Out for Breakfast

Still deciding.  This being a day when I have a treadmill respite, I could.  Last night I thought I would and even started pondering where.  My favorite place closed after maybe a year of service swoon.  A new place opened, good first impression.  New place opening.  Don't know if operational yet.  Apparently part of an expanding regional chain.  And the tried and trues.  Nearest about a mile away but really scattered in something of a circle of slightly greater distance.  And I went out for an over the top breakfast last week, a regional destination en route to someplace else.  Maybe try the new place.  Incentive, up and out of the house early more than the nutrition or ambience.  And some curiosity about the new place.

Closets

Netflix offered another Marie Kondo series, where she guided four homeowners in making their living space more habitable, or in the situation of a widow, the ability to repackage her later years.  None of the four had quite the clutter that I have.  As a senior living in a house with three levels, I know that a day will come when I can no longer do that.  The uncertainty is really whether I manage that or it is imposed on my wife and me.  While I do not want downsizing to be all consuming, I have to allocate part of each day to making it less burdensome on others who will inevitably inherit some or all the tasks.  

Marie has a five part system.  She does not do the decluttering herself, but processes the homeowners through what they need to do between her visits.  Leaving aside the pseudo-religious aspects, her process of sorting by type rather than region has some merit.  As a practical matter, if underwear did not bring me joy, I still could not discard all of it.  Yet as I watched the four episodes, with a little dozing and no recapture of what I missed, I recognized things that I like to have.  I like pens, briefcases, road maps, logo coffee mugs, and ties, accumulating far more than I could realistically use in large part because in their own way they probably bring me that element of joy that tries to get her clients to recognize.  And maybe I have a sub-fondness for zippered loose-leaf binders, too, as I accumulated quite a lot, buying an additional one whenever one on display attracts me.

Her five:

1. Clothing
2. Books
3. Paper
4. What she calls kimono, which is really the regional element that she cannot escape
5. Sentimental

Taking all wearables and putting them in a pile would overwhelm me.  I think I can go through types of items in one session: polo shirts, t-shirts, dress pants, casual pants, short pants, and the like.  Making part of a house, or even a bed, unusable makes no sense other than forcing the person to make decisions.  I am not going to do disruptive stuff.  She starts with clothing sorting each episode, as that probably gives the biggest bang for effort, and discarded clothing has ample charitable destinations.  Books also don't have great sentimental value, though destinations for the ones removed are sometimes difficult to find, other than the recycling center for paperbacks.

While I have endless sheets of paper, I also have more than ample file destinations.  While I would be better with less of it, writing a file folder label, sticking it onto a folder, putting the paper in it and alphabetizing the files goes easily.

But ultimately, what generates her popularity, or at least what I think is the deserved part of it, is the process that gives the best return on effort.

I have basement and My Space utilization as this cycle's Semi-annual initiatives.  The basement entails discarding things.  My Space, though, is really more about relocating stuff, either to storage spaces already part of My Space or to storage in other parts of my house.  To do this, I have to address where else might be better.  So my half of the bedroom closet, dominated by clothing, bedroom cubes also dominated by clothing, and the bathroom closets dominated by things essentially unusable.  I can pace myself through these while also modifying the Kondo Method for the books of My Space.

And I get to keep the loose leafs, road maps, pens, and briefcases.  But not all the ties and reconsider the mugs.

Mind Prods

Senior and retired.  Every day a stream of challenges, mostly imposed upon me.  In grade school somebody else set the curriculum and I complied.  Once college arrived I had some discretion of what I wanted to study.  There were classes, there were social encounters.  Come medical school the curriculum was again mostly imposed but rigorous, challenging me most waking hours.  Then residency and career, some forty years of this, with patients in a continuous stream needing guidance, often me needing to learn more from either consultants or study.  Retirement resets that.  There are no mental imperatives other than what I create.  So what have I created?

Not a trivial undertaking.  I still keep a subscription to my favorite medical journal and read two articles from it each week.  I subscribe to The Atlantic and The Forward, reading one article a day from the former, two from the latter, and making an effort to comment to the author.  As much as I generally detest Twitter, this seems the most expeditious platform for feedback, though private emails to authors often get a response.  For a long time I had to produce a column for Medscape each month.  Not being personally within the medical loop, the quality of my submissions waned so I gave it up.  I do not have a substitute.  Still, I have maintained furrydoc.com, striving for a submission each day, irrespective of whether anyone reads my comments.  They are still personal expressions.  

I make an effort to watch a TED talk each day, and do pretty well with this.  A reading quota used to appear on my semi-annual projects list.  I dropped this initiative, as I was already doing it without having to target it for special attention.  Three books every half-year, one audio, one e-book, one traditional with subjects distributed over fiction, non-fiction, and Jewish.  Two months into this cycle, I've done two e-books, fiction and Jewish.  

My day starts with crosswords.  I enjoy doing them, though I'm not particularly adept.  I could try to get more proficient by either looking up clues, which I regard as cheating though it's probably really educational, or looking up and studying the final answer to the clues I missed.  But right now, I think just the recreational element of thinking what the letters should be will suffice.

Each school term, I take courses at the Osher Institute, usually four, usually lecture format.  I used to like to take discussion style classes but those have become less available since the pandemic.

And each Monday evening I make a YouTube video where my talking head discusses a topic for about seven minutes.

While I've done well with petty expression, what I've not done well, indeed underperformed, has been replacing that monthly Medscape column with presentations of comparable length requiring comparable effort that others may want to read.  I try, but have been inconsistent with output.  It's one thing to sit through lectures or read articles of other people's minds, quite another to create my own.  As valuable as being part of the audience has been, I need to focus more effectively as a content creator.  That's where this set of semi-annual projects directs me.  Good attempts.  Not good consistency.  Focus on this.  My senior mind depends on it.

Perking Up

First cup of coffee not yet finished.  Morning pills swallowed and washed down with that coffee.  I had changed my sleep pattern last week, adding ten waking minutes to the beginning and end of each day.  It has gone well, particularly at the end when I know I must be engaged with something, even if only a worthwhile streamed TV show, until I am allowed into my bedroom.  The morning does not force awakening, as I am already awake for some time, as much as it does exiting bed to the next step of daily dental hygiene, also reset as a new habit about two years ago.  However, I do too much clock watching to assure I get all the bed time to which I am entitled, so I really need to reset the morning alarm on my smartwatch to buzz at the arising time.

I'm probably a little less tired on the new schedule, probably not yet significantly more accomplished in my activities.  I have been waking partially refreshed, though definitely ready for coffee, which I have not yet rationed.  Usually two cups before the treadmill, for which I also have a fixed schedule of days and a reasonably adhered to target time for doing this, though I welcome those scheduled rest days.  By treadmill's completion I am usually ready to engage in productive activities, not only fully awake but reasonably motivated.  I am not always optimally focused, though.  

While only less than two weeks into the revision, having a finite start and end of the day has contributed to what come in between.

Pens

It annoyed me no end that Shop-Rite put cheap stick pens on sale for their back to school offerings, Papermate one week, Bic this week, but only had black, not blue.  I need neither, but bought a package of black Papermate pens anyway for 99 cents and got a raincheck for the blue variety which remains baited and switched.  I found a package from previous years and transferred it to my active plastic case to the left of my desk.  

I like pens.  Pharmaceutical reps used to drop them off in abundance.  When I worked for the VA, they had government issued white with black strip stick pens in red, blue, and black, though only black could be used for a patient chart.  Another hospital had pens in black, blue, green, and red with free-flowing ink.  I buy some on my own, multicolor.  For daily and weekly planning I color code black, blue, red, green, and purple.  I also have yellow that I don't use for anything.  While cleaning My Space to make it functional, I found and harvested a red Flair pen.  When I needed to spend a little more at Amazon to get free shipping on the item I actually needed, I added the frivolity of a cartridge pen, one of my very favorite items from my own grade school days.  I even still have one, though the cartridges seem to have been discontinued.   And I have gel pens of various brands and colors.  

They are stored in boxes, plastic cases, arise from two cups within reach on my main desk and in repurposed clear peanut containers on my secondary desk.  Some remain in their blister packs.

I don't know what generated my fondness for pens, or even prompted manufacturers to create so many kinds.  I suspect this allure is shared by many others, as people trying to sell things offer them as giveaways, contracting their suppliers to design advertising economical enough to be disposable yet memorable enough to associate the company with something you might want to buy.

As the world moves from handwriting to keyboards, from signatures to e-sign, the popularity of the pen has probably started to fade.  Pharmaceutical companies have not been permitted to drop them off at the doctors' offices for some 20 years.  My own Cross Pens, nearly all gifts to commemorate an occasion, sit in a drawer unused.  They still come up on back to school promotions, though now only the stick pens are cheap.  But my own collection, really needing no more additions, seems inexhaustible.  The allure of the varieties has not faded at all.

Emerald Ash Borer

Our big backyard tree began losing its leaves.  It was a good size tree when we moved here forty years ago, I never paid attention to its growth, but it challenged me each fall when I had to rake fallen leaves from the yard.  These leaves seemed the last to fall.  It had many subtrunks with abundant foliage.  Not that many years ago, it encroached on our next door neighbor's yard.  We had it trimmed.  But this year, or maybe last, some of the lower branches stopped producing leaves.  Eventually a main trunk died while the others grew less of a canopy.  

Our usual tree specialist came to take a look, informing us that we had an insect infestation, the Emerald Ash Borer.  Estimate to remove it with a crane, $6500, though we were able to find another provider who had specialized equipment not requiring a crane who could remove it for significantly less.  Our tree seems to be about 75 years old.  Our neighbor has one in his yard, one that seems to be having either preventive or rescue treatment.

These pests are invasive to America, being natives of Asia.  The invasion began in the Midwest about 10 years ago.  They lay eggs that produce larva under the bark, cutting off the elements of the trees' circulatory system.  Since they need a broad space to lay eggs efficiently, the insect selects fully grown trees like mine.  As invasive species, they have no natural enemies though wasps are being bred which can feed on the larvae.  The number of wasps that can be released pales in proportion to the magnitude of the infestation.  Some sources indicate that ash trees in America number in the billions, with infected ones now numbering in the millions.

For a homeowner, we typically have one or two, an expensive element of maintenance, but eventually done. Municipalities line their streets with ash trees and they are common flora of parks.  A dead infested tree can fall, so the ones lining the sidewalks that get infected can take a bite out of a town's maintenance budget.

With precautions, the wood can still be used, so the price of baseball bats or tools that use ash wood for handles should not go up, maybe even go down as forced harvesting of trees increases supply.

To my surprise, the xenophobes have not targeted this as a surreptitious Chinese invasion as they did with SARS Covid 2 or manufactured products made by low wage workers.  If our forests get enough bare spots, which they might, the rhetoric and blame for votes should emerge.

As an affected homeowner, I need to let an experienced tree specialist do what's best.  Expensive, but my credit card will add some redeemable miles to vacation in a place that has no ash trees.

Cooking for Two

Sometimes my best efforts in the kitchen are for my wife and me.  Over the years we had gone out for our anniversary but places that we've gone to in recent years have become harder to find and less satisfying than what I can create at home.  So it will be at home in a few days.  Pondering the options, I selected a rib eye steak, something I messed up for Mother's Day but have since learned what I did wrong.  That means shabbos a few nights before will be milchig.  Have a freezer filled with fish fillets, easily breaded and sauteed.

Other stuff depends on what's available.  My garden had a tomato, and Jersey tomatoes were on sale.  Fresh corn would go well with the fish.  Cantaloupes in season.  Torta for anniversary.  Potatoes are versatile.  Got head of cauliflower to use up.  Bought Cabernet for anniversary.  Tabachnick soups on sale.  Tomato basil goes with anything.  And Hungarian Farmhouse Loaf for motzi.  

Small shopping list.  Eggs, since they are needed for the torta and for the breaded flounder.  Need to replace mini-challot.  Need to get the steak from TJ.  Should be two worthy suppers.

 

Not Worth It

Anticipated a few Me Days this summer, including an outing to Hersheypark yesterday.  As a senior, I really don't need stuff.  I value experiences much more, and I am willing to spend a bit to acquire some. Experiences do not always have to be new, though those seem to be the most valued.  

Centerpiece Hersheypark.  Bookends Shady Maple Smorgasbord before, a pint at the Troegs Brewery after.  Great breakfast.  Refreshing pilsner.  And at least going, the Waze GPS took me on a pleasant drive through interesting towns.  I could see that some had inordinate numbers of churches, many quite large.  Other places seemed to have a few major employers and businesses to service them.  A few were dominated by farms along the roadside.  And then there is the massive Milton Hershey School, originally a legacy gift to support fatherless boys, since modernized to contemporary needs.  And the GPS took me to residential Hershey with the houses I might have shopped for had I taken a job with their medical center, the school, or the research division of the chocolate company that paid well enough to acquire that type of upper middle class home.

And then the park itself.  Not a good experience, certainly not worth the $100 or so I spent to be there.  While not the park's fault, or perhaps some of the experience might be, I found the adventure difficult.  Considerable hike from my space under parking lot pole #74 to the tram pickup, all while toting my swimming stuff that I would need for their waterpark.  While I prepaid, my voucher and screenshot did not have a bar code so they sent be to the ticket agent to get a legit ticket.  And then there's walking.  A lot of walking.  My smartwatch is not waterproof so I left it home, thus I had no step counter.  Had I been wearing it, that 8000 step signal of my daily goal would have been reached early.  And while Hershey seems pretty flat in the car, there are a lot of upslopes.

No coasters for me.  My only rides were an antique car with a line that moved slowly for a minimal experience, and the choo choo train which took me four queries to find.  Signage could have been thought better, maps were few and not terribly helpful.  I just do not know the significance of an arrow pointing to The Hollow.

My destination was really the waterpark.  Finding the changing facility was not obvious.  I needed assistance to rent and find a locker.  Lazy River is my preferred start.  Asked four different people how to get there.  They pointed to it but did not specify the entrance.  And they did not call it a Lazy River that anyone would recognize, but the more proprietary Intercoastal.  Line to enter was eight rows deep.  I had set my watch aside.  My turn eventually came, probably about 45 minutes later for two floats in a big transparent tube, which at least noted front-back and R-L, where my limited flexibility could not position me optimally.  Next, the wave pool.  Asked three more people where it was until a security guard told me its proprietary name and understood that I wanted its entrance.  It was not operating.  Went back to a changing room that didn't look like the one I had used and the adjacent lockers had different numbers.  I asked the attendant directions to the other locker room.  He erroneously advised me that there was no other.  Obviously not true.  By then I had a few landmarks like Nathan's Hot Dogs which was nearby.  Green is easy to find.  Then my locker and changing room appeared with it.

By now, I had been on site about 3.5 hours.  Not amused.  Not thrilled.  At least the park signs pointed to the main gate until a key intersection where the arrow no longer appeared.  I thought I might take a break and ride the monorail which gives a vista of the park.  My place in the slow, episodic line was two trains worth.  I left and took my time to the entrance.  I got my forearm stamped on the off-chance I might want to return.  A quick run through one of their many locations to buy tchotchkes.  Not a bad place to get a Hanukkah gift that cannot be duplicated in local stores.  I passed this time.

Not a great place for seniors unless they are escorting grandchildren.  It's probably gratifying to treat the little ones to some rides and some of the water slides and maybe even splurging for snacks more unique than what they have at home, all clustered in one place.  For an older person alone, ticket significantly discounted or people like me would not go at all, it seemed like more of an arcade.  Places to eat, too many places to eat.  Games you can't win.  Caricature artists, photographers, henna kiosks all creating a different version of you than the one you've adapted to.  Coasters too hazardous.  Lines not justified for their end points.  Several non-operative attractions.  And more wandering around generated by staff not really trained to give accurate directions or draw a map on paper and by signage that seemed more proprietary than helpful.  Maybe with intent.  Tired of the upslopes, get some ice cream or a soda.

While getting there was recreational, I needed to extend the recreation a bit from a trying day.  Made it back to my very hot car, set the GPS for Troegs Brewery whose magnificent tour I once enjoyed.  Only five minutes of easy driving from the park.  No tour this time.  Just a short walk from their parking lot, a few smartphone photos of their building, and a half hour or so to indulge my fondness for the variety of craft brews.  Very long list, took my time, selected a pilsner.  Sipped at my leisure.  Quiet time.  More quiet time as my GPS algorithm decided that the two hours to get home would be highway, not scenic.

Household Help

At one time I used to mow the lawn.  It got too much and we hired a service to do it.  I still have all the lawn mowers.  When it snows, I shovel.  While I own a snow blower, it hasn't worked in a few years.  For as often as I use it, hiring somebody to remove the snow that exceeds my hand shoveling capacity seems like a wise option.

Some other hiring on the horizon.

1. Tree Removal
2. Housecleaning Biweekly
3. Professional organizer for two rooms
4. Electrician
5. Carpenter

These sources of assistance have not been easy to find.  The tree surgeons seemed happy to do what we need, second estimate expected shortly.  The others have remained a challenge.

There are websites that match task to provider.  When I needed a new disposal installed, it did not go well.  Somebody who I did not expect showed up to do it.  He said I prepaid.  I don't remember engaging him.  But he did a good job and I have a functioning disposal.

The organizer, electrician, and carpenter have not gone well at all.  I went to Lowes to see if they allow tradesmen to post their business cards.  They don't.  I've tried carpenter near me searches.  Mixed results.  Some not available for what I need done, or really don't serve my region.

Electricians should be easy.  It wasn't.  One estimate considerably higher than expected charges for what I need that are posted on websites.

Organizers say OK, then for some reason bail out.

And I'm not quite ready for somebody to come to the house every two weeks.  Gone are the days of the cleaning ladies that my mother and other stay at home housewives would bring in weekly, assign them whatever is best done that day, then do some other things the next week.  Now we have crews, often franchised, with a protocol checklist that does not always mesh with the best use of time or effort.  This one can wait.

And we've not even gotten to snow removal.  I'll make an effort in the fall to restore my snow blower to adequate function.

Cashless

Plan toh visit Hershey Park later this week.  Got tickets for entry and for parking.  They sent a note on their site that the park has gone Cashless.  It works out well for me.  I need only take my drivers license, as they may require ID for entry, my Visa Card, and a $10 bill just in case, all in a plastic snack bag, then into a secure pocket or perhaps my waterproof cell phone protector while I admire the coasters my age no longer permits me to ride, or spash around in the waterpark.  I rarely buy anything there, as the food prices exceed what I am willing to pay, though I have gotten trinkets from the gift shop which make unique Hanukkah gifts.  Wallet and cash purse stay locked in the car.

I purchase very little with cash, mostly coffee or a pastry at the Farmer's Market or a soda.  And some tips to the luggage drivers of airport shuttles or hotel housekeeping staff.  But mostly it is much easier to track expenses with a card.  Even donations have shifted from check in the mail to a card authorization on the non-profit's website.  Slot machines no longer take quarters.  Listening to the quarters drop when one or more cherries appear on the screen might have been the best thrill of gaming.  It's gone.  

There are probably still people who carry a wad of bills in a money clip, hoping to impress.  I have an Eagles money clip with a few bills for an emergency, a few dollars wedged between the back of my cell phone and its protective case, and a few dollars for a toll should my GPS malfunction.  But I kinda agree with Hershey Park.  The cards and electronic monitoring of funds are better.

Recreation Case

Productive amusement.  I have things I like to do, for sure.  Every day I make an effort to express myself, to learn something.  I am the dominant person of my kitchen, assembling supper most nights and periodically creating an elegant dinner.  I like to read.  I like to drive to destinations, admiring the scenery en route.  And I read something that requires attention most days. 

What I've not done is pursue recreation as I should.  I have cameras, fishing rods, and golf clubs but I rarely venture out to photograph, catch fish, or use the putting green.  I have two harmonicas, watercolors, pastels, drawing pencils, adult coloring books with colored pencils, even a comprehensive art kit in a wooden case.  I've made a small kit to improve my fishing proficiency.  All scattered in various parts of my desk.  

About two weeks ago, decided to gather my recreational items, art, harmonica, and knot tying into a single place.  My once daily canvas briefcase has been dormant since retirement.  Into it went one harmonica, pastels, colored pencils, sketching pencils, and a back to school watercolor tin.  My fishing knots training equipment went in as well.  And that's where they've been for two weeks, just to the left of my swivel chair.  Cameras on my desk.  Putting iron and golf balls in trunk along with a few fishing rods and the lures.  Need to reach into that attache for something each day.

Trips Downstate

Have not yet left my home state of Delaware , one of America's smallest, on this year's day trips.  Its north-south dimension far exceeds its east-west dimension, but it only takes two hours to drive from the northern border where I live to the beach at the southeastern corner, which is what I did yesterday, a trans-state journey done about once a year for decades.  Between spring break from Osher Institute through summer's end, I ventured over much of Route 1 south four other times with four other destinations.  What differed this year are the routes calculated by a different GPS which directed me to places I've not yet seen.

My tenure in my home state predates the GPS and even it s current main thoroughfare by quite a lot of years.  Delaware has had a north-south road that essentially bisects the state since the early days of the automobile.  A parallel north-south road with slightly different route number came later, providing a second path for people headed to a different set of small towns, starting at about the state's midpoint.  Using maps from the gas stations, of blessed memory, when I wanted to go to my state's beaches I could follow our main traversing road, then south of our capital, veer eastward on another road to the resort towns.  If I wanted to continue on farther south on the eastern seaboard, I could take the parallel road through the rest of the state.  Either way, the road connected, maybe even created, small towns along the route.  From the car window there were farms, a few strip malls, some state facilities.

The GPS and the limited access highway each transformed the trip through my state in its own way.  The highway, with two nominal tolls, made the drive to the beach more direct and considerably faster.  The GPS, with algorithms that differ a bit between brands, or now apps, vary the paths once exiting from the main roads to reach the final destination.

This year I installed a new app to get me where I want to go, including downstate.  I've wanted to go fishing, to visit relatives from Florida who had rented a house for part of the summer in a historical though growing town, the State Fair which takes place at approximately my state's geographic center, and two beaches in two State Parks.  Five trips, predominantly highway or numbered state route until the final few miles.  This year my new GPS changed that final part of each route in a most gratifying way.

My intent this spring  had been to fish at the Indian River Inlet.  Usually other anglers cast their hopes in a small cluster.  I could not find them, nor could I see anyone to ask.  Instead, fishing plan B, the pier at Cape Henlopen State Park.  As it routed me back onto the Coastal Highway, I detoured into Rehoboth from the connecting road at Dewey Beach.  Past Silver Lake, surrounded by lovely homes, and apparently another fishing option that I could not access.  Driving along, I came to the town of Rehoboth where I've not been in some twenty years.  Still free parking in March.  Strolled along the sidewalks, sparsely populated but no longer truly seasonal.  Most stores open allowing a few chats with the salespeople about what had changed since my last visit.  Made it past the bandstand to the Boardwalk.  Beach treats available, Thrashers, Grotto, Candy Kitchen, though none on my agenda that morning.   Back to my parking spot, on to the fishing pier, shared with but a few anglers.  No bites for any of us.

Beach time in June.  Cape Henlopen State Park has a lot of different pathways once exiting Route 1.  GPS suggested one unfamiliar to me.  I stayed with the familiar.  However the following month, I had occasion to visit a relative from Florida, not seen in ten years.  She had rented a house within walking distance of Lewes' marina and downtown, across a drawbridge, scenic and interesting destinations in their own right.  It had been years since my last time there.  Exiting the Coastal Highway has several options.  The GPS took me along what I assume is the shortest.  Off at Nassau Road, past a defunct farmer's stand, onto what was once a rural connecting road that seemed less rural.  New housing developments at highway exit gave way to a set of newer communities with McMansions, though none with entry gates visible from the road.  Past a roundabout, and the traditional Lewes emerges.  Clapboard homes from another era, little commercial activity on New Road.  Then the Marina to the left, town to the right, and forced turn in either direction at the bridge.  The GPS took us to the rented house where I parked on the grass across the street, prepared to find a violation notice under my windshield wiper that did not happen despite the town's dependence on parking revenue in the summer for its solvency the rest of the year.  Schmoozed a bit in their living room, then walking tour of the town with its shops, post office, and a hotel of another era.  Lunch places anything but fast food, trendy menu with waitresses.  More walking afterwards along the marina, cut short by drizzle.

Ordinarily, my route to the State Fair in Harrington, which I attend on alternate years, has been entirely main roads.  Exit 97 after Dover AFB to connect to Route 13, then just follow along about a dozen miles of commercial activity, some old to support the farming heritage of the area, more the expected gas stations with minimarts, strip malls with a supermarket, pharmacies and eating places with signage of national recognition.  This year my new GPS had a preferred alternative.  It took me further south on Route 1, exiting me at Frederica instead.  Route 12 would eventually connect with Route 13 near the fairgrounds but bypass much of the commercial eyesores that now line the main road and the traffic that it generates.

This was a far more pleasant drive.  One Italian restaurant, one school, then farms.  Out of the blue, the ILC Dover complex, a center of research with NASA and industrial applications.  They have to pay the scientists and executives handsomely, which explains some of the rather elegant homes that lined the route nearby, but still largely farm.  I could even see the ears of corn emerging.

Last trip, Fenwick Island.  My GPS wanted to take me along Coastal Highway  the full duration.  However the road sign pointed to Route 113 as the preferred option for getting me to the southermost part of my state.  I drove off, expecting the GPS to eventually give up its demands that I make a U-Turn and adapt to its new reality.  I've driven this way before, two different GPS devices which exit me to the local roads in different ways, assuring that I will get lost among the unfamiliar.  Sometimes I will drive through small towns with their churches and volunteer fire departments, not staying on any road very long.  Occasionally, as the coast nears, the commercial area will generate a half mile of stop and go traffic.  This GPS exited me a little north, at Frankford.  Immediately I fell behind a semi negotiating itself into a tight parking lot that served as a Mountaire Poultry facility.  Then once I could move along, I drove the rest of the way behind a Jeep from British Columbia who in all likelihood did exactly what his GPS told him to do.  It was a Delaware scenery I had not encountered previously, or it did not imprint well if I did.  Chickens.  I know this industry brings revenue to our state.  The State Fair exhibits samples of the animals themselves and booths descibing this element of commercial agriculture.  It is not nearly the same as driving past rows of buildings appearing as elongated chalets. rectangular with A shaped roofs, and what appear to be giant shades covering the long sides.  I could see no animals, no entrances, no workers.  Between the coops were fields of corn.  I imagine the harvest will end up in the feed trays, not in my supermarket sales bin.  Amid the corn fields, and on the right side of the road were vast flat fields covered with some type of low vegetation.  No clue as to what grew there.  

I did not get lost this time.  Route 20 took a diagonal path through the appealing vistal of rural Omar, Roxanna, and Williamsville, none labelled by anything other than an occasional directional sign.  No post offices to announce the town.  An occasional place to eat or a stand to buy produce or the name of the farm at the entrance of what appeared to be a long driveway.  To my surprise, for the first time, my GPS bypassed Selbyville, the last major population cluster before intersecting the final road to Fenwick Island.  As I turned left to my destination, a mall with a supermarket appeared.  Then for the rest of the ride, vacation housing clustered far closer together than in the farm areas, and appearing far newer.  Boats piered on the water, restaurants, a few doctors, places to get ice cream, even minature golf as the final traffic light arrived.  Turn left to Fenwick Island, right to Ocean City.  I went left.  The GPS did not direct me to the park's entrance, rather to its street address.  But having been there before, I knew I had to drive a little further for my afternoon on the sand.

Having lived here over forty years, met virtually every statewide elected official at least once, raised a family, and have people remark on the relative rarity of my license plate when I visit distant cities, there are parts of the state that have eluded me.  I make it to the destinations, Wilmington, my workplaces, the synagogues, the medical facillities where I have both worked and lectured, including downstate.  And the beaches, the parks, and the Fair.  Even earned a promotional beer stein from the Delaware Wine and Ale Trail which took me to as far as Delmar.  What I've done poorly may have been paying attention to the journey.  Highways, or even major state routes with lined with stores, eating places, and gas stations can mislead.  I read about poultry, a factory that makes space suits, and irrigation frames that always seem dormant.  Farms grow green pepper and melons which I eat, but only see at the grocery, never in the field.  At the State Fair I admire livestock in pens.  It took the objectivity of my current GPS to divert me from the main roads, to see where the chickens live, where the crops grow, and to realize that not all top tier PhD holders work for the megacorporations or the university.  I'm much indebted to the GPS for forcing this better appreciation of where I live.

Christmas Tree Pickings

Bankruptcy befell one of my favorite stores.  The Christmas Tree Shops are about to ride off into the sunset, as did its parent Bed, Bath  & Beyond in the same retail complex near me.  I only went to BBB when I needed something that would last, something worth paying a small premium.  The Christmas Tree Shops provided more of an escape, a place to look around, see what they had, see what would register as useful only after seeing it on display.  I got Hanukkah gifts, discounted seeds for my garden, kitchen gadgets, and most of all boxes of 40-80 k-cups in attractive varieties and brands not found elsewhere.  They once had the best buy, if not the best selection, of grooming products along with a decent selection of greeting cards.  I rarely left the store with nothing.  Customer service was minimal, and I assume the wages of the cashiers was also the state's regulated minimum.

It had been a while since I was there.  Shop-Rite had run sales on their brand of K-cup so I had no compelling reason to go to Christmas Tree Shops.  And as I get farther into retirement, challenged by decluttering and downsizing, my desire to purchase stuff has waned.  I went back, though, probably for the last time, partly out of boredom at home and partly to replenish the k-cup supply.

Bankruptcy with mandated clearance had emptied the shelves.  They posted 30% discounts on everything but had also marked up what they could so few final prices struck me as a bargain.  I browsed.  Clearance on their Hanukkah stuff in August, immediately to the left of the front entrance.  The seasonal stuff that made their business niche was no longer seasonal.  Gardening supplies and water sports equipment really not there, though they seemed to have a surplus of sand chairs.  Already have two of those in my trunk, colorful ones purchased there several years ago.  Lamps and furniture cleared out of its usual location at the back of the store.  No school supplies ordered by their purchasing agents for this back to school season.  Kitchen supplies, once a dominant section with dishes, glassware, storage, towels, all mostly sold out.  Still K-cup boxes in abundance.  I bought two, one steeply discounted, the other costing a little more than I intended to pay, though not priced on the shelf.  It was of a brand I had never tried before.

Before long the store will be vacant, along with BBB.  Locally we have a small political issue of what to do with that space, and a much larger mall around the corner, as the retailers are unable to maintain a profitable presence.  Originally, this mall, built on a huge tract of land once dedicated to harness racing, had been intended to attract a collection of upscale scores for high income customers and social climbers.  Some of those retailers set up shop, all quickly failed.  The Target store seems a true anchor.  The Lowe's at the other end has a stable customer base.  It always seems to have shoppers in their aisles.  The movie theater, as infrequently as I go, never seems to have a lot of people around for the space it occupies.  There are always furniture stores, though the furniture retailers stay a while, leave and the mall rents the space to a different retailer.  As convenient as they are, I preferentially just drove the 20 miles to IKEA when I had to replace a mattress and a sofa.  

I will probably remember my excursions through The Christmas Tree Shops with some fondness, as I do Alexander's and EJ Korvettes of my youth.  All were places to seek out when I needed an hour or two someplace other than my house.  None really essential to my fundamentally frugal place in the consumer economy.

The New Bait & Switch

Every Thursday the postman delivers a small advertising packet.  Our local grocers entice us with discounts on items we would ordinarily purchase for our families.  Kosher consumers in my area flock to one supermarket over the others for about the past twenty years.  The Orthodox Rabbi and the President of that store had a friendship which led to an agreement to offer Kosher meat, delicatessen, and baked goods.  As the corporate artists who design the weekly ads, working with each chain's purchasing agents and marketing staff, well know, if people patronize preferentially for the things they want most, they will fill their carts with everything else on the grocery list.  So Kosher in my town seeks out Shop-Rite.

When the packet of ads arrives, I separate Shop-Rite's circular from the rest, then take it to one of my two desks. Putting writing pad, one of the ones you get for free from a charity or a hotel, and with pen and highlighter to my right, closing the lid of my laptop while putting the circular upon it, I begin seeing what Shop-Rite might have for me at the anticipated coming week's shopping outing.  Serious price reductions, those mass lures, go on the first page.  They've even added a flap to make that front page larger.  Produce along with floral department occupies the back page.  Usually, though not always, starting from the front, I read their items half page at a time.  If it's too enticing to pass up, needed or not, that item gets a streak of colored highlighter and it gets recorded on the front of the pad, the side with the agency's logo.  If it looks like perhaps it should go into my cart it gets a maybe with the pen next to the item in the ad, and listed on the reverse of the pad's page.  The maybes far exceed the have to's.  On Sunday's I download the coupons onto my shopper card which will then deduct the savings when I scan its bar code at the register.

Shopping day arrives, list in hand, I traverse aisle by aisle.  Take a cart, plop six reusable bags on its bottom, enter the main door, then right-face.  Shelves and a display with some of the items from the front page of the circular that require no refrigeration.  Rotate left and the produce begins, sometimes with the advertised farm products in the nearest bin, more often in their usual bins.  And as I have been recently learning, sometimes not at all.  Genuine Jersey Corn, 4 ears/$2 not there at all, not even in the specially assembled section at the far end of produce where the other advertised vegetables from regional farms could be taken.  Like most modern day mega-marts, the perishables run the perimeter of the store. Stable products fill most of the store in parallel aisles.  After personal care products and baby needs, Shop-Rite set up a wide aisle dominated by soda or similar beverages that really have no place in anyone's cart, but reserved space, both shelving and central stands for more sale items as well as seasonal items.  Back to School this month.  Great deal on stick pens.  I buy a package of black and a package of blue each summer.  Ad takes effect Sunday, display empty on Monday.  Wireless Mouse, $10.  Like to try one of these.  Fine print in Ad:  where available, while supplies last.  None on shelves.  Doubt if consumers scooped up the entire stock in one day.  Maybe the bait, an attractive item, good price, not really something you will be able to buy, but see what else might be in School Supplies.

And so it went.  Hamburger rolls $1.25 for eight.  Could get as many packages of hot dog rolls for same price, shelf of hamburger rolls of that brand empty.  Unable to find lemonade on sale.  And a few more other things from my reverse page of maybe I'll get it, maybe not.

I went to customer service where people are pleasant but really have no influence.  The lady called the department manager for everything I couldn't find.  Didn't come in from supplier.

In a previous era, retailers would intentionally fail to have sufficient advertised items to meet a realistic projection of demand.  Since purchasers schlepped to the store to get that soap, analgesic, underwear, or grapes, they would encounter an unhappy spouse or kids if they came home empty-handed.  Depending on how much they really needed that electric coffee maker or those muffins, they could and often would opt for a competing brand with a higher profit margin.  And since getting to the strip mall took some effort, then roam the store to see whatever else might deserve placement at the cash register.  Bait and Switch, a common ploy to boost retail bottom lines in an industry that runs on notoriously thin profit margins offset by volume.

My present inability to find what I had placed on my advertising generated shopping list probably does not have a sinister motive.  There is no intent for hot dog rolls to overflow the assigned shelf while hamburger rolls of the same house brand at the same price do not appear on the adjacent shelf.  Rather the consumer has become the unwitting pawn of modern, sophisticated commerce's unsolved challenges.  Products in the supermarket come from all over the world, manufactured in massive amounts by producers who must obtain ingredients from every farm imaginable.  They have to produce the amount that they think they can sell at an acceptable price to a distributor.  The retailer then has to make an educated guess, though one supported by very fallible Big Data, as to what the consumer demand will be.  Then purchasers have to negotiate best prices, close deals, and pass that good fortune to headquarters who can decide what to discount.  The art or media division creates the ad, somebody else nudges the suppliers to deliver the products in the anticipated amounts, while somebody else at the retailer's central office figures out how many of each product need to arrive at each of their hundreds of stores in time for the first day of the advertised sales.

Our computers are good, but not that good.  The sequence of farm, factory, first delivery, importation, purchasing estimates, bank loans to be repaid after sales, and overland transportation to hundreds of locations has any number of glitch points.  As a consumer, I only saw one, the product they told me I could have for a bargain not available for purchase, not at that price or any other price.  There are other hamburger rolls or pens I could buy, no other computer mice, and all costing more than what I intended to spend.

So the best option for end user like myself, pick up the things that were on my list, which is the vast majority, assess purchases for things that Shop-Rite or any other retailed chose not to put in the week's circular, and decide if I needed a missing item badly enough to pay the increment for a higher priced brand on display.  While no ill intent or manipulation on the part of my preferred store, they still benefit indirectly from not being able to offer me what I thought they were offering me.  I have a reason to go there at all, a credit card that will not bounce, a mind that signals to me that something on the shelves not on my list still ought to go into the cart, and maybe come back on Thursday to see if the supplier was able to make good on the advertised item before the next week's circular makes the process literally circular.

Each Thursday when the mail comes I get baited.  An analysis of my register receipt over several visits would likely confirm switched as well, though in the era of supply chain fallibility, not by intent. Whether our legislators or regulators need to act, I'd vote not yet.  The solution will more likely come from upgrades in technology.  And the fortunes that come to the companies that make consumer supply more reliable can expect a fortune far in excess of the couple of bucks I currently overspend at the supermarket most visits.