…I could do anything I wanted today?

This isn’t an idle question for me.  In fact, it’s a question that I often need to answer, (and not just on weekends).

Let’s face it.  Our lives are filled with obligations. We are often socialized to play our prescribed roles.  Yesterday I was watching my two-year-old grandson race around our family room, discovering whatever it is that toddlers his age need to find out about. As he matures, he will face years of socialization, school, and be encouraged to play his part in a (somewhat) scripted life.

When I was a child, I remember asking my mother almost hourly during the long summer vacations, “What can I do today?  I’m bored.”

Her answers were often pretty good.  The first tool in Mom’s “to do list for bored sons” arsenal was a visit to the Los Angeles Zoo.  I especially liked feeding peanuts to the elephants, and watching the monkeys fly around their cages in a fit of what seemed to be excess energy (but was probably bored desperation).  The zoo, however, was only good for one visit every month or two.  Riding my bike around the neighborhood was the more likely activity on my own daily “to do list” during those long summers.

Today I tell myself that I should “want” to be reading books when I find myself with time.  In fact, I have even bought the books that I should want to read: hard covers, paperbacks, and digital.  When I was on vacation recently, I actually did read five books.  But now that I’m home, I’m back to feeling that I should be wanting to read, as opposed to actually reading. Take last weekend, for example. How much did I read?

Nothing.  Although, I have to admit I watched sports on TV while playing solitaire, my favorite game on my iPhone.  It passed the time.  In the long run, it probably makes no difference at this point in my life whether I’m productive, or just plain enjoying myself.  Perhaps that is just a rationalization for doing what I really want to do.  But if I believe it isn’t that all that really matters?

All right.  Now I’ve been productive.  I’ve written my blog for the week.

Back to solitaire. Which evidently, is what I would do if….

Alan

I founded ACF Property Management, Inc. on March 1, 1968.

That was 55 years ago, or “in the age of the dinosaurs,” as my children will occasionally remind me.

For a long time, I diligently kept a business “To Do” list of the eighteen or twenty projects I intended to complete each day.  I don’t remember a single day when I checked everything off my list, but I do remember those many days when fate intervened. Then I had to give my full attention to other issues and didn’t find time to work on a single project from my list.

Retirement, however, was never on my “To Do” list, then or now.

One of my investors recently wrote to tell me that he was retiring and moving to France.

“Retiring?” I thought.  “How can he do that?”

Then I remembered that he was probably ten or twelve years younger than I am, so I guess he’s entitled to retire.  But I won’t, and here is why.

For many years my dad refused to buy a TV.  He said, “I’d probably just sit and watch the thing all day long.”  But, after I graduated from high school, he bought a color TV.  And he was right.  He sat in front of it for much of the rest of his long life.

But, like Dad, I like working on projects with other people.  He was still teaching music students when he was more than 100 years old.  I enjoy solving business problems with my staff at ACF.  It keeps my mind active, and ACF endeavors are far more engaging than sitting on my sofa watching “The Price Is Right,” or whatever the current TV favorite is for the geriatric set.  (Although I will admit that Daveen and I watch Jeopardy together most weekday evenings.)

So here I’ll remain, working away, and wondering where all the other octogenarians have gone.

Alan

It was the final day of our vacation.  In fact, it was the final evening.  We had signed up for a dinner cruise in Sydney Harbor.

Mistake.  Big.

We could have been packing our luggage, enjoying the Elvis movie on our watch list, or savoring a final meal on the cruise ship.  But, instead, we were slowly touring Sydney Harbor — a tour we had taken several times before and realized, too late, that this was one too many.

Finally, at ten pm, we arrived back at the dock.  We could easily see our cruise ship, only 500 yards away.  But there was a body of water in between where we had docked and our ship. The bus ride back to the ship would take close to half an hour.

I was in a hurry to return and was among the first passengers off the dinner boat.  Soon I was leading the pack to the bus that would deliver us to the Viking Mars.  Then we encountered the first problem.  As we walked up to the landing we nearly crashed into a sign: “Dock closed at dusk.”  Okay.  It was just a sign, and I was not going to let a sign cause me to spend a chilly night on the dock.  Please keep this our little secret: sometimes I ignore signs.

But I couldn’t ignore the two barriers that were strategically placed to block our path.

The first was a fence made of fish net. It was latched to the left with Velcro, so I simply opened it and pushed it aside so the other 40 or so passengers could follow me back to the bus.

The second obstacle was not so easy. I yanked hard on the handle, but it was either stuck or locked in some way.  But since the second fence was only about 36 inches high, I decided to just step over it.  This was not as easy for me as it might have been twenty years ago, but I made it over in one piece.

I’m happy to report that the remainder of our trip back to the ship went smoothly, which, of course, brings my story to its happy conclusion.

I believe I’ve mentioned how much the ocean swells rocked the ship on the last two days of our cruise.  But Daveen and I have solved that problem in advance.  Our next cruise is on the Ohio River from St. Louis to Philadelphia, where we expect calm waters.

Maybe we’ll revisit the Elvis movie on our next cruise. Meanwhile, if you really need to get somewhere – I encourage you to remove or step over any obstacle in your path.

And I won’t tell anyone if you occasionally ignore a sign.

Alan