“I think this is the spot where Blue Rainbow had his shack.”

“Not much left of it, is there?” she said.

They kicked at a few rotten boards with faded flowers painted on them, overgrown with sorrel and ferns.

“I guess not,” he said, “but Blue had the best view on the commune.”

“Even the view is gone,” she said. “The place is barely recognizable.” She gazed toward a row of spindly pines.

“Still pretty idyllic, don’t you think?”

They walked back to the Big House. Until recently, it was occupied by one of their old communard friends. He died a few months back, after a lingering bout of meningitis.

Hearing about his death, the Bobby and Jenean, who had lived together ever since leaving the commune after the FBI raid in 1974, decided to make a day of it, and picnic on the land. The tofu and arugula sandwiches nevertheless left a hollow feeling in their stomachs. The trip had begun to take on the morbid feeling of lingering too long at a funeral. Both of them tried to make light of it, though.

“Betty and Alice’s treehouse was around here somewhere.”

“I think that big Doug fir blew down in a storm.”

The water tank was overflowing with weeds. The Big House belied its own nickname. It was smaller now than the place Bobby and Jenean lived in, alone, back on their quiet cul-de-sac.

There was a circular platform of crumbling boards.

“Here’s Seth’s dome,” he said.

“Aw, he and I had some good times here,” she said.

Bobby turned his gaze on her. “Wait, I thought you couldn’t stand Seth.”

“No, no, you’re thinking of Steve. He I couldn’t stand,” she said. “Seth on the other hand…” Her voice trailed off in winsome memory.

“I’m sure it was Seth,” he said. “Are you telling me you and Seth had a thing?”

She lingered over her answer. “Well, now I’m not sure. It was a long time ago, after all.”

“Shit,” he said. “Every time we look back on that time, I’m hearing about another of your lovers. I thought I was your only one here.”

“You were, sweetie, you were.” She paused. “In a way.”

“Shit. I hated that guy. How could you…?”

“Come on Bobby. It was the times.”

He knew she was right. Still, he thought, Seth? Fucking Seth, too?

John Q McDonald is from Pleasanton, CA 

We keep appliances until they are absolutely, positively dead. The Betty Crocker toaster finally croaked, and we were trying to remember when we bought it. Was it when we lived in South Carolina? Mount Pleasant? If our memories are correct, that would make it about 25 years old.

The toaster has served us well, and now it’s time for a new one. This is where Dale and I take completely different paths. Although he sometimes lacks motivation to get other things done, he is Johnny Mission when it comes to replacing broken appliances.

I was gone all day, but Dale immediately went out and shopped for toasters at Bed, Bath & Beyond. He didn’t buy one, though, because he thought I’d want a vote … which is a polite way of saying he figured I wouldn’t like whatever it was he bought.

Dale does not appreciate my approach to purchasing new appliances. I get online and do research. I check Consumer Reports, Good Housekeeping and The Wirecutter. Oh, and Amazon reviews. I want to know test results, best overall, best value, unusual quirks.

My process served me well when our hand blender died, because I learned the biggest and baddest would not have worked for my small-batch mayonnaise. A simpler and smaller model was perfect.

I was like this before I retired, but now I’m more zealous than ever. I liked being in charge when I was working, and I guess I still like it. Dale also liked being in charge when he was working, and I don’t think he appreciates the idea of reporting to me. Sometimes in marriage and in life, you will lead, and sometimes you will follow. Retirement is an opportunity to work on the follow part. I’m getting there.

We had the toaster discussion last night. He said I know you. You’ll get online and try to find the perfect toaster with all the bells and whistles. And then I surprised myself. I said, yes, that is what I would normally do, but I’m not going to do it this time. The toaster is in your court. Whatever you choose is fine with me.

Really? Yes, really. And when I let go, I felt good. It’s just a toaster, but it’s my husband’s free will. I mean, that’s how we ended up with a red food processor, and life hasn’t come to a screeching halt. Let him be the natural born predator that he is. Set him free to hunt it down, kill it with a credit card and drag it home.

This morning I asked him about the toaster he liked at Bed, Bath & Beyond.

Did it come in colors?

Yes.

OK, what colors?

White and chrome.

Which one did you like better?

White.

That’s cool.

I was thinking chrome, but I kept my mouth shut. We will soon be celebrating the arrival of a brand-new white toaster of unknown origins. I have nothing to do with it. Just following along.

Donna Pekar is an aging badass (for real) who lives in California and writes Retirement Confidential.

 

I bought books at yard sales, estates sales, flea markets and used bookstores. There was such a store near my house called 10,000 Books. Probably could be called 9,950 thanks to me. Baseball, travel, war, animals, television, the Beatles, and other 60s and 70s rockers were my favorite subjects. I was also gifted a lot of books on those same subjects. I have books where they belong, on shelves in our living room and home office; and where they don’t, in boxes in closets, in totes and stacked on the floor next to my side of the bed.

I’m 70 now and I have a ton of books. And I don’t think I’m using “ton” euphemistically. My 1948 copy of The Library of Health is 1800 pages and it alone weighs eight pounds. Today it could fit on a chip the size of a grain of sand with room for the Complete Works of Sherlock Holmes, of which I have two.

I used to think it was cool to find, for five or 10 bucks, a coffee table copy of “The British Invasion” or Maps of Civil War Battles or The Immortal John Lennon published at 40 to 60 bucks.

Now I think it would be cool to be get rid of them, but I can’t. I lugged a hundred of them to my yard for a tag sale and nobody even looked at them. Nobody reads anymore, books at least, and everybody has a device in their pocket to tell them anything they need to know.

We’re getting a dumpster soon. Hope I don’t injure my back.

Jack Smiles and lives in Wyoming, PA. I find that sentence amusing. Not sure if he smiles because he lives in Wyoming, or because it’s in Pennsylvania.

 

The more things change, the more they stay the same. At least that might be true when it comes to the housing of choice. Baby boomers are turning to ranch homes for the convenience and compactness. It’s a manageable size for retirement and that means they can keep their freedom and independence.

That’s just a bit ironic since the ranch home traces its roots to the old west, when early homesteads were made of adobe and then later inspired by the Spanish-style homes popularized in California circa 1920. Easterners grew fond of the unpretentious look and the affordability was very appealing. Around 1950, nine out of every ten homes in the United States were ranch homes.

So early settlers to the frontier and beyond were looking for freedom and simplicity and more than 100 years later, baby boomers are attracted to ranch homes for the same reasons. Living on one level often required larger lots back in the day but that’s not necessarily true now. The sprawling ranch homes of the 50s have become more compact and efficient, but the outdoor lifestyle in still key. Most new ranch homes have multiple egress to the outside for outdoor kitchens, dining and recreation. Swimming pools and hot tubs are also popular with baby boomers. The U- and L-shape configurations are still desirable because they offer more privacy for the outdoor space, especially important now that ranch homes are cropping up on smaller lots.

For further irony, even millennials are attracted to this home style and are competing with boomers in the real estate market. For a millennial, the moderate cost is a big factor but so is the nostalgia, as many of them grew up in this type of home.

Maybe it’s time for you to saddle up. Put some horseshoes on the wall. Get one of those cowboy silouettes…you know, the kind where the cowpoke has his boot up leaning against the wall and his hat pulled down low in front. A longhorn steer skull hanging on the wall could also work. Sure won’t look like assisted living.

Jay Harrison is a graphic designer and writer whose work can be seen at DesignConcept. His mystery novel, Head Above Water, is available on Amazon and Kindle. You can also visit his author page here.

Nobody wants our stuff. Face it. Maybe you’re looking at them right now — the nicknacks and tchotchkes that are collecting dust on the mantle, piano or bookcase.

No one wants it. Not the dishes, not the furniture, not even the antique rocking chair, and especially not the figurines.

Millennials and GenXers just aren’t that sentimental about our “valuables” and even if they wanted some of it, they don’t have the space. Besides, their collectibles come in a digital format and they can store it all on a flash drive.

Thrift stores and estate sales are loaded with boomer cast-offs but they are just collecting dust. Still. They were collecting dust when we owned them and they are doomed to continue collecting dust. Go to any yard or estate sale in an older established neighborhood and you can see for yourself that our stuff is going begging. Lladro porcelain? Big deal. Even the people who know what it’s worth don’t want any more of it. A vintage Ridgeway grandfather clock? Where would anyone put it? An Apple watch does so much more. Beautiful sets of dishes, and when I say set, I mean service for 12? No one is feeding 12 people anymore and if they had 12 people over, it would be for finger food.

Look up some of these things on eBay and you’ll see acres of listings posted by desperate boomers. Their best customers may be other boomers who just can’t give up the hunt for more treasures.

I don’t care what Marie Kondo says. Holding on to what sparks joy isn’t really generating much joy and the next generations are getting absolutely no joy from baby boomer possessions.

At the risk of sounding like I’m encouraging arson, certainly one option is to put it all in a big bonfire. Or you could take it to the landfill, where the bonus is that you get to meet the most interesting people there. These options make more sense than waiting for millennials to come around and decide that these treasures are worth keeping. Won’t happen in our lifetime.

Back then to a bon fire.

Jay Harrison is a graphic designer and writer whose work can be seen at DesignConcept. His mystery novel, Head Above Water, is available on Amazon and Kindle. You can also visit his author page here.

Retirement reduced my exposure to annoying situations, but it’s hard to avoid them completely. I recently played golf with a woman who announced she was extremely sensitive to sounds. She had rabbit ears and could hear even the tiniest whisper, requiring absolute silence when it was her turn to play. Even the rustling of a potato chip bag was terribly disturbing to her.

I got paired with her again a few weeks later, and she got into a snit about scoring. Rules for the women’s golf club events are rather persnickety. We all keep each other’s score, and you have to capture that information at the end of each hole played.

Around the fourth hole, she got a little huffy about our process for swapping scores and announced her demands for how it would be done going forward.

Good thing I spent my career learning “advanced” communication skills to get through challenging scenarios without injury or lawsuits. Please select the best response:

• A) Thank you for sharing that. Let’s collaborate when we get to the next hole and get some consensus on a win-win solution.
• B) I appreciate your perspective – and to build on that – I recommend we circle the wagons on the next hole and get input from the rest of the team.
• C) Great idea! Let’s pulse the team and see if everyone’s on board.
• D) Who died and left you in charge?

I chose D, haunted by the voice from the ethics videos we used to watch, “That is not your best choice.” Still, shit like this goes on in my head all the time, but I’ve learned to suppress it. Even on the golf course, I allow myself to be bossed around because it’s easier than conflict.

When we got to the next hole, she said, “Did you just ask me who died and left me in charge?” I said, yes, I did. She never spoke another word to me.

I hope I wasn’t too much of a jerk, and I hope I’m not put to the test again any time soon. However, it’s kind of interesting how it turned out. I shot my best score ever. What’s up with that?

Donna Pekar is an aging badass (for real) who lives in California and writes Retirement Confidential.