Making Committments

A friend from synagogue asked me to help out with a project. While I have doubts about the project itself, his request to do the kitchen component matches with my interests, skills, and desire for a challenge.  However, Sunday mornings, the assigned time, has been my protected time for much of my adult life.  Every Sunday morning, I retreat to my screen to see what's current.  I take out my planning papers, Semi-Annual Projects, and multicolored pens which allows me to outline my aspirations for the coming week.  At one time I went out for breakfast with some frequency.  Or I went fishing.  Or I went to a coffee house for a half-hour or so of quiet time with a writing pad to my right and the porcelain cup to my left.  Committing to a Sunday morning incurs opportunity costs.  None of what I might have done instead is irreversibly sacrificed.  My week will get outlined.  In my working years, and perhaps a bit beyond that, the planning pouch with its pens and papers got toted to the coffee shop.  I can go fishing anytime.  The synagogue event serves coffee and has other people present.  What I would miss may be less the project itself than the control over when I pursue them.  

And the date given is nearly three months in advance.  I don't even schedule my vacations three months in advance.  Or choose my OLLI courses that way.  While my initiatives are Semi-Annual, and they all have the completion deadline component of a SMART goal, virtually none have an assigned date and time.  Appointments go on my weekly outline and whiteboard as I compile a list each Sunday morning.  They do not become part of Semi-Annual Projects which function better with flexibility.  Appointments months in advance have a way of hanging over me that long.  I dislike that.  It should be far enough in the future for me to prepare, though not so far as to have me staring at my calendar.  I know when Seder and Yom Kippur are, but I don't bring either into my need for action until they approach.  For time in the kitchen, a week or two will suffice, if I am willing to yield that Sunday morning at all.

Being Frivolous

Fun has never been a high priority, at least since my teens.  FB friends who learn that I have never been to a rock concert think I have missed out on some of life's most meaningful experiences.  I have never sought anything from a designer or patronized an exclusive store.  My two professional massages were gifts.  Not a chance that I would seek one out on my own, not on a cruise ship, not from a storefront franchise.  I've not had my hair styled, just efficiently cut after it's been overdue. I've never gone skiing or snowboarding, just snow tubing one time. Meals out are expensive for assigned special occasions, though never extravagant or at a place so exclusive that telling somebody I've eaten there would create an impression.  Some things are just frivolous, not worth purchasing.  Yet I have my own targeted amusements.  I have a liking for a day at a water park.  Linking one to an amusement park is even better.  On a cruise liner's chocoholic buffet, I arrive at the announced starting time, usually an hour when I would ordinarily be asleep.

Some things merge the utilitarian with the indulgent.  My insulated mug, obtained for free from a pharmaceutical company when they were still allowed to gift promotional items to doctors who might prescribe their products, served me quite well.  It has been many years since the companies got together amongst themselves and discontinued these items.  My mug still keeps coffee warm and it fits under the dispensing spout of my Keurig machine, but the seal between its plastic lid and insulated bottom has gotten loose.  Technology on these items has also advanced.  My original thermal travel mugs had plastic inside and out with a vacuum between layers.  My daily one has plastic on the outside, stainless steel on the inside.  The lever atop the lid moves across the top to allow coffee to flow, but does not always stay in the intended position as it sits in the car's cupholder.  Maybe time to replace.

As with most things, technology has come to the marketplace.  These travel mugs insulate more effectively, typically about five hours of hot, and about sixteen hours of cold.  Inner surfaces remain stainless steel but the outer part has transitioned to metal, usually a painted surface with fine texture in a variety of colors.  The shape has changed.  It is still possible to buy one that fits snugly in the center holder then expands upwards, but more cylindrical designs have taken over, presumably to capture better thermal retention properties.  Some have one diameter to fit in the holder, and a larger cylindrical shape above the holder.  Others are just cylinders.  Some have handles, though a two-cup car holder can really only accommodate one handle.  And the lids, while still plastic, seal tightly. Most have a more sophisticated and secure mechanism to keep the mug in its sippable and closed positions.  Moreover, the market for cold has expanded, so many have straws that attach to a male end on the underside of the lid to allow a straw to collect liquid while the user sips from a plastic lid segment that rises and lowers to allow consumption or seal.

Creative designers and patent attorneys have to be paid, so the modern mugs have gotten considerably more expensive.  Some coffee shops or iconic thermos brands offer their own logos at a premium.  It is not a trivial purchase anymore, though whatever the consumer selects should be durable.  

I went to several stores, mostly places I thought would discount them.  Poor selection, low quality at all of them.  I looked online.  Again, surprisingly limited selection, much harder to sort on Amazon than sorting shoes or shirts.  And while expensive, not so costly as to qualify for free shipping.  Some local stores only had the types with a straw.  Target had a fair selection, though priced above what I would be willing to spend for something useful, but not essential.

Finally I found the selection I needed at a Marshalls at a price acceptable to me.  I saw one just right.  Had it not only come in pink, I'd have purchased it.  As much as strive for gender parity in my professional world, and critique my synagogue for slouching on this, some things are just effeminate.  Teal green or battleship gray would be at the cash register.  But not lady pink.  Eventually I found a stainless steel travel mug, right size, right top, right price.  Selected that.  And for the same price, I selected a second one, smaller volume, more cylindrical, name-brand, semi-mechanized top.  Took both to the register for roughly the same price one at Target would have cost.  And I paid cash.  Not perfect in design like that pink one, but either will keep my morning coffee hot longer than it would take to drink it, most at OLLI, but also on some half-day travel.  

Everything has a downside.  Both are too tall to fit under a Keurig machine, so I will need to fill a cup and pour it if I make the coffee that way.  Or better, it might be a good excuse, once a day, to make better coffee in a French press or Melitta cone, then pour it into the insulated cylinder before heading to the car.  And since I know what the ideal option is, I can keep my eye out for one in a more acceptable color.

Hot coffee, good coffee, the best I can make at home, is not frivolous.  Coffee shop prices can be if coffee is the product being sought, not frivolous if I am paying $3 to rent space for undistracted Me Time or camaraderie with others who see the coffee shop as a non-alcoholic Publik House.  The mug, judiciously chosen, adds to the enjoyment.  To-Go, Starbucks or WaWa's cardboard option just doesn't match the pleasure of liquid still hot an hour later.  A quality insulated mug, one that should last years, or for me two new ones, searched through several stores for the best buy, should keep the morning coffee worthy of a slow sip in the OLLI Lounge, the classroom, or on the Interstate.

Separated Classes

One day each week, my first class begins at 9AM but the second not until 12:45PM.  That creates a two-and-a-half-hour unscheduled block of time which I have used in different ways.  It does not pay to return home and then return to OLLI, so I pack a few things to bring with me.  The site provides coffee.  There is also a catering service that offers lunch for purchase.  One of my favorite pizza/hoagie places is a short drive away, though parking not always at hand.  Thus far I have made my own lunch.  Usually a sandwich, either PBJ or cheese, a snack, a fruit, and a bag of herb tea, for which OLLI provides hot water and a clean recyclable cup.  I eat in the cafeteria, usually by myself at a round table just before the midday classes let out.  I pack my laptop and a cheap plastic portfolio.  I also take a microcassette recorder.  While my smartphone has a recorder, flashlight, and electronic level, none of these surrogates are really as good as a real tape recorder, flashlight on keychain, or for serious carpentry, a level made by Stanley.  Don't do any carpentry at OLLI.  

Some weeks I work on projects from my Semi-annual list.  I've practiced a long Torah reading obligation.  That day of the week, I always read weekly Parsha commentaries and tackle a New England Journal article, each available to me during those 2.5 hours.  I can plan my upcoming vacation or ponder a more remote one that I aspire to.  

Other weeks, I leave my things in the backpack.  I sit at a table and create a conversation with one or more people at the table.  It helps that the early morning class is devoted to a video and discussion on contemporary controversies.

I try not to surf the web, whether my email or social media.  I've been mostly successful at avoiding that time sink in favor of things I cannot get elsewhere, primarily proximity to other people, or dedicating myself to things that require my mind to focus in a place that has few distractions.  

The challenge of keeping this segment of unstructured time fulfilling, if not actually productive, has been a gratifying one.  Sometimes Me at my best, or at least a Decent Me, one very respectful of this Me Time.  

This part of my weekly schedule lasts less than two months and will be hard to duplicate without the separated classes bookending the pluripotent 2.5 hours.  I have found it a weekly focus, at least while it lasts.

Care of Myself

Lab testing this morning, followed by a treat, out for breakfast.  Not an extravagant one, though probably something I could not duplicate in my own kitchen.  At the mid-point of my monthly three-day treadmill hiatus.  Just as well, as I've experienced some axial pain, lower back and thighs.  My mood could be better.  I did have a pleasant exchange with two teachers, contributing to their series and getting invited to give one of the presentations the next semester.  But for the most part, I kept to myself, working on a minor project for lack of motivation for a major one.

I did get up on time, with a favorable report from my wristwatch which has a not terribly accurate sleep assessment app.  And I read some from the book I am reading, though unlikely to finish by month's end.

I'm sore.  Feeling a tad down, though less lonely.  Not really motivated, though still reasonably productive and at times creative.  Not missed any scheduled medicines.  Eating judiciously.  Staying current with medical care.  And at times felt energetic in recent weeks.  But I thought the recovery from assertive walking on the treadmill would have me less achy.  And some vacation days with change of scenery and activity not far off.

Despite the orthopedic and depressive symptoms, neither overwhelming, the principles of attention to my physical and emotional needs remain intact.  I need to sleep on schedule, rest on schedule, eat in a predictably judicious way, do what the doctor advises, approach people in some way each day, do something each day to keep my mind agile, and exercise to age-appropriate capacity.  I think I've done all these things.  The achiness should abate.  The spirits should rise from the effort.

Breakfast Where To?

No treadmill or stretch scheduled today.  No appointments.  One email invitation for late afternoon that I will tacitly decline by not responding.  And a small outing yesterday, a disappointing one at that, and two much more desirable places to be tomorrow.  No reason to get dressed today.  But these relatively infrequent blank days generally go better if I grant myself some kind of treat, either a reward for notable attainment later in the day or out for breakfast as a small reward for being fundamentally a decent person when my electronic news feeds show a deficit of honorable people.  So last night, I resolved to go out for breakfast today, even if it meant getting up at my usual time, grooming first thing in the morning and putting on the clothing I wore to my outing yesterday.  I even decided where.  When the clock radio flashed its red numerals, I dutifully got up, made coffee, outlined my day, washed as many milchig cups as I could fit onto the drying rack, then recycled yesterday's clothing.  I drove to my destination, finding it too islolated, so quickly selected a backup, where I spent a little more generously on an enhanced omelet and a slightly larger tip than I needed to offer. 

Breakfast has an interesting personal history, an offshoot of my autobiography.  Not living in a cave,  not being a hunter-gatherer with meal uncertainty, I am well aware of the expert consensus on the importance of breakfast.  It takes minutes to heat a pan and fry two eggs, a little longer to poach them.  Sometimes I have packaged hash browns in the freezer or frozen kosher vegetarian sausage links that take minutes to make.  And not that much cleanup either.  For all the Aunt Jemima controversies, I always admired her picture on the box.  She portrayed concern for the people she fed, racial stereotypes aside.  And now with Pearl Milling on the box instead, the prouct has become even easier to use.  Just mix in a 4:3 ratio with water in a coffee mug, maybe a half cup mix, stir a bit and pour into a hot oiled pan.  Flip once when bubbled, then transfer to a plate.  Pour some syrup, for which I have maple and few others at hand.  Then eat in minutes while drinking coffee.  Easy nutrition.  And when I go to the supermarket each week, some cereal is always on sale.  I get a box or two.  Yet it serves as a between meal snack.  I've not poured it into a bowl with milk in decades.  And instant oatmeal available in a variety of flavors goes on sale, can be made in minutes in a coffee mug, and eaten just as quickly.  Not bought toaster waffles in ages.  I have farina and wheatina and packages of real oatmeal and grits.  These are more tedious to make, so I rarely do, though have better sensory outcomes than the instant varieties.  And either bagels or English muffins usually occupy my refrigerator shelves, along with stuff to coat their bite surfaces.  No excuses, really, for not stacking my caloric needs earlier in the day, but I rarely do.  Instead, my fondness is for the antagonism of the adenosine receptors by coffee, most often my own as a k-cup into a porcelain mug.  Two cups worth while I sit at my screen.  Coffee in a mug is portable upstairs each morning.  In my commuting years, coffee was portable in a car, either in a paper cup from WaWa designed for the car or in one of many logo insulated mugs given to me by organizations in anticipation of or appreciation for some of my money.  And my fondness for varietal coffee tastes goes back to the 1970's when The Coffee Connection on Harvard Square or Peet's nearby offered experiences new to me.  Modern commerce and astute observers like Starbucks, K-cup manufacturers, and WaWa's knew that a lot of other people would pay a little extra to have their morning perk-up enhanced by the need to select from among taste options.  So, despite the relative eas of a caloric breakfast, my mind and later daily agenda prioritized wakefulness.  At least at home.

Having somebody else make breakfast is a whole other matter.  After a grueling night of weekend On Call during my medical residency, my first destination after signing out would invariably be Bickford's Pancake House.  All types of pancakes, multiple syrups.  I would never go there any other time.  And a pot of coffee to wash down those perfect pancakes, rarely duplicated since.  When I travel, breakfast always starts the day, whether at hotel, whether for professional or leisure travel.  Breakfast buffets ranging from packaged everything at chain motels to serious elegance at Caribbean resorts, Israeli hotels known for their arrays, or over the top cruise ship offerings each get a due measure of my time, and if more than cursory, a level of indulgence that carries me forward.  When not provided by my hotel, I seek out a pancake place mostly, though I will choose from the larger menu.  No skimping here. Omelet, hash browns, toast, coffee.  Always a big input of calories, as I will mostly not eat again until supper except for a cruise ship's day at sea when meals begin on arise and go continuously until bed time, interrupted by some aquatics.  So when I have breakfast I generally do it lavishly.  

Going out for breakfast has its home version.  While studying for my periodic professional exams, I would take my review book to one of several restaurants, bone up a bit on what I might be asked, while ordering either eggs or pancakes.  Once exams are over, I would often go out for breakfast on my days off, and when on weekend call, I would invariably break for a massive breakfast buffet across the street from the medical center where most of my effort would take place.  Occasionally the hospital cafeteria would have to suffice, though rarely for breakfast.  Over a number of years I accumulated my favorites.  Hollywood Grill a five minute drive was the default.  Coffee Station was nearest.  New places open, always tried out, others close.  Once retired, these outings drifted down to one or two a month.  And they started to include a few samplings that registered in my mind as no more repeat visits.  But those two a month or so became my most reliable breakfasts, and invariably my largest.

While I seek out breakfasts in public settings, whether my personal outings locally or as part of a travel experience, these meals rarely have a social component, though perhaps they should.  I am cordial to the waitress and tip adequately, but prefer the buffet to the menu and waitress.  For a while, my roughly weekly breakfasts at the Hollywood Grill seated me at a counter.  I recognized the waitress, her pleasant manner part of making this my preferred destination, and I came to recognize the many regulars who came each week.  I evesdropped on their banter with each other and with the waitress but never got invited into the conversation itself.  I effectively ate alone amid a crowd.  I could say this about most breakfast experiences, travel with my wife and me as a pair, breakfast locally or professional travel solo, irrespective of how crowded the buffet or commonality of purpose as at a professional annual meeting.  The exception, and not a very big exception, might be formal tours where the group assembles for the day's itinerary, but even there I usually seek out my own table, filling my plate with what I find most inviting, then letting my mind wander by itself.  On cruises, I am dining alone with my thoughts and plans, even with hundreds of others filling the tables and sampling the food at the buffet, which I invariably prefer to breakfast in the formal dining room.  There I sit with whomever the dining staff seats at my table, exchange pleasantries or maybe a comment on the ship's destinations.  But my breakfast table is not a place where thoughts, insights, or experiences transfer between people.  It is a place to sit quietly, think to myself, admire what the kitchen staff was able to assemble, and recover from the day past or anticipate the day ahead.  For as many people as may be present, breakfast from a simple bagel with homemade gravlax at home to the elegant repast of a classic Israeli hotel buffet, remains fundamentally Me Time.  A few minutes to make food choices perhaps but also time in a virtual cubicle that lacks separation walls.  

Might I do this better, or if not better, then differently?  I could take better advantage of what I already have at home.  When I go to the supermarket, I rarely target what I will have for breakfast, other than making sure I have enough eggs and perhaps deciding when I should make another pound of gravlax, which takes a few days.  Part of the barrier seems to be my treadmill schedule.  To do this without fail, I set a fixed time of 8:15, before calories other than coffee.  And this has been so successful, as it gets what I am most likely to make excuses to not do out of the way first, that I will not change the schedule.  But every third day there is no treadmill to walk.  I could target those for breakfast, two at home, followed by one away.  And after treadmill, I could eat something that takes little time or effort.

When I am out, can I take better advantage of the environment.  I prefer the open counter to a table, but even there, only the Hollywood Grill, now defunct, had an vibrant counter experience.  As I get to the other places a short drive from my home, the food really isn't that much better than what I can assemble myself.  The Country Buffet has become defunct, and I have little reason to be in that vicinity other than as a periodic platelet donor.  When I don't eat breakfast with any substance, I still have a measure of Me Time in front of my screen, checking messages, contributing my thoughts to recipients known and unknown in cyberspace.  So even if I could make breakfast more of a social experience, it would be infrequent, though more spontaneous in its interaction.  And professional travel is no more, recreational travel infrequent, and the buffets at places where I stay mostly cursory.  So my best upgrade would still be at home.  Perhaps starting with a real breakfast, the kind a dietician might recommend on the treadmill days off supplemented by two served breakfasts a month locally.  Small upgrades, both to my nutrition and my psyche.

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.

Petty Annoyances

Irritations of a minor nature keep appearing.  I want to go to Hershey Park for a Me Outing.  Actually a day's vacation, or at least Me Time.  Breakfast at a massive buffet en route, amusement park, water park, zoo, major regional brewery.  All in one day.  Just me.  Went to buy tickets.  Senior discount.  Parking discount.  All lost by "convenience fee" of $6 for buying online to save over gate prices.  It is more convenient though.  Went to Giant Food store near me, as the park indicated a partnership.  No go.  Went to AAA.  Real discount on seniors entry price, no discount on parking, all reset to neutral by service fee.  There is a rational me that should override the annoyance.  The "convenience fee" really is a convenience, though $6 seems much.  It will not affect my larger financial position which loses and gains more than that in some minutes by market fluctuations.  If I really want to have my fun day, and I don't have too many fun days, just spend the $6.  Save more than that by going to a beach that accepts my state pass instead of one that meters parking.

Bought a new camera.  Chinese.  Made mistake formatting.  Hit wrong button before I could enter date, time, and language.  Fortunately it defaulted to English.  It would be nice to have my work stamped by its time of creation, though.  And I will be traveling to different time zones with the camera.  So knowing how to reset this would be helpful.  Steeply discounted device, inexpensive for a reason.  Sent the company two email requests to try to get back on track.  No response.  Instructions not helpful.  Online FAQ did not appear on Google search.  There are some YouTubes.  Maybe explore those later.

Got a k-cup machine.  Made coffee, ordinary pod.  Usually a light reminding me to fill the reservoir comes on every day or so.  Refills are a priority, as the surest way to ruin the machine is to run it without water.  This time two lights came on.  I need to descale it.  I've done this before.  Tedious but not difficult.  Just was not expecting to have to do this again as I had done it not that many months ago.

Most of my outdoor garden plants did not grow to harvest.  My herb pots planted from seed underperformed.  

Have to get to Newark Airport for my trip to Europe in a few weeks.  Could drive and park, an easy but somewhat expensive default.  Tried to arrange one way auto rental.  Prices three times what they would be renting to drive around my home area.  Checked with Amtrak.  Cheap excursions at certain times, prohibitive fares for two when we really need to travel.  Drive and park still seems best option, but one more annoyance.

Fortunately none of these irritations really change what I want to do.  I can still have a good day to myself at Hershey Park next week, take photos of France with my camera even if the assigned date is wrong, drink coffee every morning, buy vegetables and herbs when I need them, and get from home to Paris at the scheduled times.  The impediments just detract from what I really aspired to be able to achieve.

New Places

My car has been my freedom ever since I got one to call my own, and deprivation of freedom prior to that or when unavailable to me.  Periodically my father z"l would take us someplace relatively spontaneously, the World's Fair in Flushing Meadows a few times, once the airport, occasionally to Rockaway.  But I like to get into my car and drive to different places a lot more, and mostly by myself.  Sometimes I plan, but rarely more than a week in advance if no overnight stay is required.

I needed some Me Time, shuled out, Jewed out, still inappropriately resentful of a baalebos who mistreated me in his official synagogue capacity.  Skip shabbos, visit someplace other than synagogue.  In my weekly plan, I designated this a New Place, a place I'd not been to before.

And so at midmorning, after some coffee, I asked the Waze App to direct me to the Lancaster Central Market, which I had heard about as an historical site.  Despite frequent outings to Amish Country, I'd never been there, though had been to the Central Market in York.  I had visited Franklin & Marshall College and Wheatland, both in Lancaster, but never been to the central business district.   Amish country is definitely separate from the seemingly robust mainstream economy of the town.

My GPS gave me the fastest route.  I opted instead for the one I knew well, until a turnoff of minor familiarity, then followed the directions for the final half hour through some pretty seedy parts of the town until arriving at a few blocks far more filled with people than most mid-sized towns on a Saturday morning.  Indeed, the leadership of Lancaster had made the area a gathering place, with the Central Market, open only Tues, Fri, Sat, as its centerpiece.  Parking lots all had Full designations but driving two blocks beyond, I encountered the city's parking garage.  For $2/hr I could take my time, walk around.  

They gentrified the place.  People of all ages.  Complexions maybe less diverse, though not really to the exclusion of anyone.  While the market originated as a farmers market where people could gather to obtain provisions, it now functions more as a food court with stands offering all sorts of options, though seating in the market itself was rather limited.  It seemed far cleaner than the two farmer's markets near me that I frequent periodically, though those are more cheap merchandise oriented with food a secondary consideration and eating places relatively few.  

I settled on a falafel from a transplanted Middle Eastern man with a friendly smile who custom-made my sandwich.  A little mushy perhaps but tasty.  Second choice would have been an open-faced gravlax sandwich from the Scandinavian place, much less filling for about the same price as the falafel.  I took my sandwich outside, a dreary slightly chilly and misty afternoon but with a brick planter ledge to sit on.  Then walked a few blocks.  Then returned for dessert, opting for none.

Back to the car, still within the $2 parking ante.  Decided to go to a winery.  Pennsylvania allows its vineyards to set up a limited number of satellite tasting rooms but I really wanted to go to the vineyard itself, so I did.  A little farther out of the way than anticipated but took me through some pleasant agricultural and dairy operations.  The Waltz Winery has been open about twenty years.  Their tasting offered a mixture of wines from estate grapes, blends, and an apple wine.  I chose my five, sipped slowly, and enjoyed.  Chat with the hostess prior to the selections.  Considered wine glass purchase but more than I wanted to spend and I have ample winery stem and goblet glasses, enough for any reception I could ever host, milchig or fleishig.

GPS directed me home, kinda.  Rejected the Turnpike with its tolls.  Took the GPS directions, ultimately rejecting its transfer to the Lincoln Highway, in lieu of Rt 30.  I thought I would take Rt 896 all the way to my state's university, and did until I came to a cross route, one whose name I recognized in its eastern segment but have never been on its full extent.  I went there instead.  Farmland, the New Bolton Center, eventually what looked like manors of the uber rich.  Never made it through the town of West Chester as anticipated, though south of it.  Having been to football games at their state college's stadium, I recognized the road that I take to get there, proceeding on to the pike that gets me home, which it did.

Tired when I got home, though satisfied.

Taking Shabbos Off

I'm once again shuled out.  Perhaps only my shul, but probably all shuls.  I have no desire whatever to attend any of the community events this week for Remembrance Day or Israel Independence Day.  Maybe I'm Jewed out, though still find Reddit's r/judaism worthy of my input and I will offer my two monthly Jewish donations, now a few days Past Due.  None of this stuff is on my weekly activity list except completing the donations.  And maybe getting a summer JCC Membership, partly for health reasons, partly to improve my social engagement as OLLI goes dormant next month.  But at least for this week I'm off.  Omer count continues, though.

What might I do instead?  Not veg.  Not as I really start feeling pretty decent physically for the first time in a couple of weeks.  A drive somewhere unless it's pouring, maybe a drive to someplace indoors if it's pouring.  Something worthy of my spiritual and physical recoveries.  But Me Time for at least the daylight hours.

Escaping the Nudgy Tasks

Tis the week I set aside for a little isolated Me Time.  I definitely want to get away, though not as forcefully as when I escaped to Penn State or Camelback in previous years.  I've picked a recreation destination and a hotel not far away which has what I need to seek one notch short of my highest level of amusement.  It also, in exchange for recreation, bypasses what I could be doing instead at home.  And I don't quite feel my best.  The non-refundable nature of the reservations makes me want to delay another day, but the water park and hotel would each like to have my business.

And then there are other things, few of them semi-Annual initiatives though some are, that crop up.  Have to help out at shul at beginning of week and for shabbos.  Need to sign some financial papers.  There's an Education Committee event that my wife is running so I need to be prepared and present for that.  My financial advisor sent me a summary of the new rules for the calendar year, a few of which affect me so I better familiarize myself with them.  The library secured one of the two books I reserved, so start that, even though I do not want to take it with me on my getaway.  And OLLI has some minicourses that look inviting, though not essential.  All stuff to work around my days allotted to Leave Me Alone.  While some household chores appear on my list, I'm feeling indifferent to most this week.

See if I feel better later today.  If so, make the reservations for later in the week.

Cancelling

My wife sang in a concert a few days back.  The principal tenor, present for rehearsals, cancelled out just a few days prior to the performance, having developed symptomatic Covid.  A replacement, a very capable one, was recruited on short notice allowing a magnificent performance of Mozart's Requiem to take place.  The church providing the venue overflowed its parking lot and filled nearly all its lower level.

Now a few days later, my wife develops respiratory symptoms and achiness.  Thermometer 101.6F.  Covid PCR +.  In my refrigerator I have a mostly thawed 17 pound Big Bird, $58 worth, but guests have been disinvited.  I now have sniffles myself, but no fever.  Still a colonoscopy looms in six days with my wife as designated driver and me on quarantine.  And air travel in two weeks.

Need to do some phone time.  Donate turkey, or make every effort to do that.  Reschedule endoscopic procedures.  Buy some more home covid tests or maybe have one done at the pharmacy for myself.  Having had a booster, only one, I do not have to self-isolate but do have to mask.  And see what happens to the sniffles.  Then next month, relent and get the next booster

To the best of my memory, I've not missed Thanksgiving before.  One year in medical school I purchased a reheatable kosher TV turkey dinner from Sol & Ely's Kosher butcher in St. Louis.  Even as a physician, since I worked every Christmas, I could anticipate being off for Thanksgiving.  

My own temperature is normal this morning, though I have subtle suggestions of early symptoms.  Just cancel whatever would get me in contact with anyone for the long holiday weekend.  And take advantage of some unanticipated Me Time.

Visiting Chesapeake City

Needed a brief escape, preferably one that fulfilled my Semiannual Goal of three visits to new places in Maryland.  Some impediment by locking myself out of my house for the first time in forty years, but a neighbor found her spare key and off I went.  Some alone time in the car is always welcome.  Scout GPS worked well, taking me to the few turns uneventfully.  The Delaware side seemed amply developed, the Maryland side less so.  While I had intended to tour the C&D Canal Museum, it only opens on weekends.  Crossing the canal explained why.  The town of Chesapeake City MD lives off its marina, with various pleasure craft moored there for its prosperous owners to enjoy time on the water each weekend.  Not many places to eat, some niche boutiques, though far less than what I found on a similar day trip to Frenchtown NJ last year.  Said hello to the shop owners, almost bought something.   Had a simple lunch, then headed home.  Semiannual task can be marked complete.

While in the neighborhood, I had to pass Costco to get home, so this would be a chance to see if they had any cargo pants, the last replacement clothing I still needed to get.  They didn't.  However, to get back to the highway, I had to drive past Cabela's.  Cargo pants are most useful for sports where you need to keep your hands free.  They had something suitable, which I purchased, to be altered next week when I pick up the pants already at the cleaners to be hemmed.  Then my replacement boat shoes should arrive and my upgraded wardrobe for summer will have been completed.

Mostly a Me Day.  I need a few Me Days.

It's a Rainy Day

An overnight rain at the tail of a major storm from a more vulnerable place.  We've had a dry spell which has caused my zinnias to droop and the weeds in my garden to have a competitive advantage.  Heat and humidity have deterred me from working outdoors or even fishing so the change in weather doesn't really change my activities but helps me avoid having to rationalize them.  Today I also have no fixed appointments.  I've not registered for seminars, no Shiva minyanim to attend on Zoom, it's not the day I check my oil or file my financial statements or even weigh myself.  The treadmill appears on my daily task list and will be addressed later but today is also the day of social media avoidance.  Basically, I have a day with myself.  I can finally take a stab at making my own bagels and dinner centers around macaroni and cheese in the style of Horn & Hardardt, z"l.  It's also a day to tackle some initiatives that are not slam dunks.  A day with time to invest in the future.  Me Time.

Treating Myself

These past few weeks I have been uncharacteristically self-indulgent.  I went about adding to wardrobe with items that I didn't need.  Sports Authority had a 20% off coupon in their flier so I got a fishing vest, perceiving a need for the vest's pockets more than as a clothing item. Since the rods were on clearance for 50% off I got one of those as well, then on a stop at the Pennsylvania Welcome Center on I-95 I picked up a brochure that the Commonwealth assembled for people who are new to fishing.  I only had one Phillies hat so I bought another.  After my platelet donation instead of returning home I took a back road to Lancaster, enjoying the scenery and getting a couple more pairs of good shoes.  This upcoming weekend I have my monthly outing and next weekend I travel to Houston for the annual Endocrine Society Meeting.

I've taken no time off from work, in fact going to see patients last Sunday at the expense of other useful activities to upgrade my home and organize my finances which I had intended to do.  I will have skipped shul three consecutive shabbatot along with the Annual Meeting, feeling in no way deprived with a diminishing sense of obligation to be there when I could be doing something else instead, provided the something else has value.  And I skipped the local Greek and Italian Festivals this year.

Over a long time I've become scripted distinguish what I need from what I want.  I still have what I need and then some.  A certain amount of ME TIME probably falls into the category of need, which the monthly outings have fulfilled quite well.  The productive activity at work probably falls into the category of need.  Fishing does not but there may be a place for it.  Shul seems to be declaring itself as not, but there remains a place for it.

Me Time

Yesterday I redefined shabbos as a break from what I usually do, whether that be the six days of labor or the seventh day of avoiding activities which occupy the other six days.  I took a day off dedicated to myself and my inner spirit.  This included a certain amount of Avot Melacha, and maybe stuff that I could have done today instead but yesterday was the better time for it.  Kohl's opened for pre-Valentines Day at 7AM so they were about the only place open when I started.   They were clearing out their winter duds so I picked up two winter hats, a new pair of leather gloves and a scarf made something that resembled wool but wasn't.  I really do not need any of these, having always lived in a place that has four seasons which enabled these acquisitions over time.  Moreover, I almost never have to go outside, my day beginning with a few meters walk from the front door to the driveway, followed by a parking space in the hospital's covered garage, then the reverse order home.  Even on shabbos, it is not far from the AKSE parking lot to the front door.  But this was a day of indulgence so for less than $16 for all the stuff I could not go wrong.

Next stop the new Panera Bread Company for a Mediterranean Breakfast Egg White sandwich which I ate there while wearing my new gray driving cap with the ear flaps tucked under and a large dark coffee which I nursed in the car's cup holder all the way to my next destination, Historic Cape May off season.  My GPS has  a bias for the Interstates but the official State of New Jersey Transit Map that I picked up a couple of years ago at a state highway rest stop had more inviting routes that I planned out the night before though I still got snookered off course by the GPS.  Since I had no other destination and both routes took me places that I had never traveled before, it did not matter much which road I drove on, keeping the map open next to me in the passenger seat which allowed me to reconstruct my preferred route as I traversed the width of South Jersey.  Like many of my previous day trips, the path there creates more interest than the final destination.  I think of the New Jersey of my youth, populated by cousins who failed to follow the rest of the family east to Long Island, a connection between Rockland County where I lived and Manhattan where I wanted to go.  Even now when I live literally minutes from the bridge that give me access, it is still a barrier to crossing the border at the other end to get where I want to go in New York.  It is rarely a destination for its own merits.  This time, though, as Route 49 took me through Salem, then Bridgeton, then Millville, finally making the rest of the ride along Route 47 which has its eastern terminus in the resort town of Wildwood with little else in-between, there was real farmland, a huge state prison without a lot of citizens nearby to object to its presence and as the shore loomed, some places that people might like to retire to.

Once nearby I again needed the GPS to find my way to the Emlen Physick House at 1048 Washington Street, the town's main attraction.  Cape May runs a year-round tourism project with a guided tour by trolley around town, which has been designated an historic site due to its abundance of Victorian style houses, some in lurid colors.  Over the years I've become familiar with old mansions, paying admission to acquire inspiration for what I would like to do with my house but haven't.  One of the observations that has always intrigued me but seems fairly constant from place to place is that the country squires who own them never really keep pace with the technical advances that develop while they reside there.  Despite the unquestionably prosperous Physick family staying until 1935, there was no telephone service, lighting was still done by gas, and there was no radio.  To maintain the many houses in town would take a lot of artisans but no body quite knows where they or their shops are.   There is a second mansion that I could have toured as well but opted to walk around town on my own.  Most of the places were closed but they have a pedestrian mall where some of the shops stay open on weekends so I bought a bag of Kosher-certified salt water taffy and had it placed in a box that resembled one of the town's Victorian structures.

By early afternoon I was a little hungry.  There was a sandwich shop near the lot where I placed my car, so I purchased by customary tuna hoagie, eating half there then half to be stored on the front seat for later.  Next stop, the Hawk Haven Winery nearby.  Finding it did not go easily as my GPS did not include any of the Cape May County wineries in its directory.  The girl at the Wawa who I expected to know a major regional destination was underage but one of the customer was not, so he pointed me in the right direction but it was still not easy to find, the vines being on one side of the street with the tasting room discretely placed on the other.  They hosted an advertised event of wine and chocolate pairing which made this the most crowded winery I've ever visited since the Bar Mitzvah class took their phony ID's to the Manischewitz plant.  The owner just brought his first newborn home from the hospital the day before so Grandpa and an employee held the fort.  Despite the crowd, it went well, though I think I liked the various types of chocolate squares better than the wine.  Next stop, en route home, the Natali Vineyard which also had a special event, a local vendor selling baked goods and a local artisan displaying and selling valentines candles.  The lady at the tasting room did not use a measuring pourer and had a generous hand.  The final two liquid specimens, intended for dessert included 15.7% alcohol versions of banana wine and port.  Upon departing, I took the second half of lunch from its wrapper and finished it before moving on the Route 47 for the non-stop return home.


Did I achieve my highest level of amusement?  Probably not yet.  I did learn a little more about me than I realized before.  First, I like visiting old mansions.  My house, built in 1967 and occupied by me since 1981 may have done a little better in some ways than the owners of the homes in Hyde Park, Winterthur, or the Emlen Physick house.  My house gets advanced.  A visitor to my place would find things in it that did not exist at construction time in 1967.  We have modern central air conditioning.  The antenna attached to the chimney came down with the last roof revision, to be replaced by cable transmission.  We have appliances that did not exist when we first moved in.  Somebody touring our house would find a flat screen TV of recent vintage, a small TV in the bedroom purchased around the time my daughter was born in 1983 and on my desk a 1960's black and white portable TV.  There are electric typewriters now obsolete.  There is a stereo with turntable and cassette deck.  But my house is not a museum.  As better devices come along, they find their way into how I actually live.

I also appreciate my time a little better.  As one of my six semiannual projects, I designate one day a month for a day trip to a place I have not been before.  Sometimes my time has to be truly mine, not a lot of it, but some.  It does not belong entirely to the patients and housestaff of Mercy Philadelphia Hospital, not to my family, not to the synagogue, or since that time may be allocated on shabbos, not even to HaKodesh Barachu.    Some measure of defined time has to belong to me alone, to be separated from other things that fall into have to do categories.  Yesterday defined one of those necessary dedicated blocs of  me time.

Shabbos Dinner

As the sunset times get earlier and before long Eastern Standard Time arrives, there becomes less of a window for my wife to prepare a Friday night dinner worthy of Shabbos.  That brings the task to me, generally done from 5:30-6:30 on Friday mornings but some preparation earlier in the week.  Meat, usually chicken but sometimes beef or even fish if I plan to go to Beth Emeth reform oneg shabbat where the good stuff is milchig, has to be defrosted on Wednesday or purchased from Shop-Rite Thursday night.  Mini-challot get defrosted on Thursday or purchased during the day on Friday.  Depending on the main course I will marinate the meat the night before.

For the most part the preparation is simple.  Usually chicken breasts or a dismembered chicken gets browned in a big pan, then seasoned and put in the oven while I prepare boxed couscous or rice.  Occasionally beef is on sale, so I will put stew meat into the crock-pot along with vegetables, rice or beans, spices and plug it in.  Once in a while flanken or short ribs goes on sale so that is prepared like the chicken.  Occasionally I will feel more energetic and obtain a pot roast, whole chicken or turkey breast which I prepare Thursday night.  A frozen vegetables get nuked in the microwave and Luigi's Pareve Water Ice makes for a suitable dessert.

Usually the dinner is simple, an end to an often arduous work week, a demarcation point, something worth a little extra preparation to do.  We avoid appointments that night other than maybe watching or recording Washington Week and in a prior era seeing what JR was scheming on Dallas.  Since I completed Kaddish, even attendance at Beth Emeth where I really like to hear what their Rabbi has to impart, is decided by what time I arrive home and what time they start that week.  No appointment to finish at a certain time.

I've also not been to AKSE's monthly shabbos dinner in a very long time.  While I admire the effort and intent of the people who assemble this, going there really amounts to keeping one more appointment, a place that I need to be at a fixed time.  My work week keeps me in contact with people who come to the exam room at a specified time.  I cannot escape from patients in the hospital, residents and colleagues tapping into my knowledge, irritation about some process gone wrong.  Shabbos is really an escape from that.  While my Rabbi's have tried to instill into my mindset the need to assemble with community that day, my fondest shabbat experiences really took place during my final two medical school years when I no longer had exams on Saturday morning and I could escape by myself for a peaceful evening.  I would plan dinner alone or occasionally splurge oh so very gently to walk to a vegetarian restaurant not far from my apartment for a special supper that I would be unable to prepare on my own.  Shabbos became an Island of Time with myself and later with my household, as it still is.  While divine intent was for it to go from sundown to sundown, I came to appreciate and anticipate a somewhat shorter break from the usual, as shabbos morning services bring another set of appointments and a return to a a public sphere, though with different players to separate it from the work week.  It is really about Me Time, Family Time, maybe a bottle of craft beer with a dinner that does not require scrambling for the final assembly and enjoyment.  And then maybe some Rabbi and God Time the next day.