I am a talented loser of property.
Wallets, keys, tools and many other things often turn up missing. I know the real problem is I’m not attentive enough to my environment so I tend to forget what I did with my property. Having spent massive hours looking for lost items,
I’ve become a talented finder of property.

How do I go about finding stuff?

First thing is to bring in heavenly help. Cradle Catholics in my town, like me, would pray to Saint Anthony to help find lost items. The chant goes, “Saint Anthony, Saint Anthony please look around. Something is lost and can not be found.” If the item is found, we thank the patron saint of lost things for his intervention. If not, well we knew he tried.

Second thing to do is challenge my memory of recent events around the missing stuff. Whatever comes clearly to my mind’s eye gets me started. Everybody does this, but it’s the next step that brings home the lost prizes.

Like everyone else I look in any area where the item may have been. But I go deeper than this. Almost obsessively, I look everywhere even places where there is no chance of finding it. By doing this, I have found wallets in refrigerators and keys in old shoes deep in closets.

I also tenaciously believe I will find any lost item. It may come to me days later and when least expected. Although it does help to take a short break from looking so hard.

Next to last piece of advice: it is better to be more careful with your property than to become a savvy finder. But if your mind races beyond your control like mine, get more talented at looking hard for all those lost items.

Last piece of advice; if you really want to find the lost item, it helps to buy it’s non-refundable replacement. As soon as you get home with it, the lost one leaps from its cloaked location and into your disbelieving hands.

P.S.: I wrote this after finding my lost passport so I may be a little full of myself.

Daughter Beth and her partner, Julie moved into a section of Brooklyn, New York City with real character. The area is loaded with boutique stores and small restaurants where shabby chic still rages. The travelers’ eyes can feast on the local architecture mixing baroque and late Victorian. It’s a fun outing but take a native with you to get the full effect.

Beth told me about a group of Brooklynites called “hipsters”. They are identified by their appearance statement. Such markings include weirded out clothes, hair or mode of transportation which are just off enough to get them noticed. They didn’t cluster together much. I imagine they want their qualifying appearance to not get drowned out.

I have since thought about the “hipsters of Brooklyn” and wondered if choosing to be different could work for aging baby boomers. After all, there is a whole bunch of us. We are at the sundown stage of our mid-life goals of raising a family or setting the commerce world on fire.

It would be beneficial for boomers to change their next path in life away from the lives we’ve lead for five decades and toward one where we are able to contribute by throttling back on the unimportant things.

My favorite example is how we get around. Cars cost an average of $24,000 and by the time it’s paid off, $40,000 has been spent. Then we have gas at $4.00/gallon. Factor in the insurance, tolls & upkeep, and we spend a lot to have a steel cocoon to take us to the pizza shop.

Boomers in retirement are well positioned to renounce personal vehicles and discover transportation methods that actually help the environment: bikes, buses and trains. We can get our daily – and necessary – exercise by walking to stores and restaurants.

Imagine if only 30% of my generation would accept these changes? Real and significant change can happen for the better. I think my single example will lead me to others. Maybe by the time I’m done, we’ll have a genuine new class of older Americans. Ones who make their journeys easier for them and the world.

They’ll live by the mantra: If I can’t help; I won’t hurt.

This week I relearned the reality that even bad things have a purpose.

This weekend, daughter, Beth and her mate, Julie came home to pickup refinished furniture for their new digs in Brooklyn, NYC. We decided the best option was for me to return with them in the U-Haul to NYC. This way I could help Beth carry these pieces up the stairs. A pregnant Julie would work the sidelines.

To avoid sitting on my wallet during the ride North, I put it in my carry-all. When we arrived at their apartment, we carried everything up four flights of steps with 11 right turns. It was more like a rectangular spiral staircase. After the huffing and the puffing, all was in place. I decided then to get my wallet. I went through the carry-all without finding it. Beth also search it with matching results. Conclusion: It was in the U-Haul Julie had returned to the depot. She was returning home, and the depot was closed until 7:00 a.m. Monday. Our new best plan was to search the truck early the following day.

I went to Mass and prayed the wallet would return to me.

Later I had a dynamite fish dinner – cooked by Julie – followed by a night of worry and doubt. I found time to chastise myself for being careless with such a valuable item as a wallet. I vowed to be more careful in the future. As I always do.

Fast forwarding the story: the wallet was not in the U-Haul. Beth & Julie dropped me off at the Tick Tock cafe with money for the BOOM bus to Philly.

As I rode on the bus, my thoughts of relaxing were shattered as our driver said, “We’re experiencing motor trouble and need to switch buses in Secaucus, NJ”. Drat!

While waiting out the bus swap, I calculated the fruitlessness of again searching my bag. Tossing aside logic I decided to try it. This time I found the wallet. Did I just do a better job searching than the three other times or did my wallet return to me as I prayed for? I thanked God for answering my prayers. I’m not going to question the how.

The best lesson I learned during my trial was how loving and caring Julie and Beth are towards me. They offered me the support I needed without comments about how I created the mess. In short, this old boy is proud of how well they handled me.

I was in good hands this weekend.

God, Beth & Julie had my back.

Most of us follow special rules even if we ignore their existence. They are usually the result of all those “learning experiences” we had that were really failures. By learning from our mistakes, at least, we had a payout.

Example: I agree that something worth doing is worth doing well. Why set my hands to a task if I don’t apply my best efforts?

However, one of my other rules is a reverse of this time-honored gem.

It reads, “If it’s not worth doing, it’s not worth doing well.” Simple, huh? I’ll look at what I plan to do and apply this rule. If it’s not worth doing at all, I walk toward something worth doing.

Try it sometimes and see how you’ll free up time and be able apply it to worthwhile endeavors.

For a bunch of years, I was a long distance runner. I found daily running to be satisfying and emotionally rewarding. As good as running alone is, running with others was better. Famed running doctor, George Sheenan called organized races “the love making for runners.”

One day in 1981, I received an invitation to a marathon scheduled for my 36th birthday. How nice of them to do this. With adequate warning, I could prepare properly for the 26.2 mile ordeal. I sent in my application and set my running schedule for the next two months on the same Sunday.

As a way to get shape for the marathon, I registered for two separate half-marathons which were well in my comfort zone. These races would stretch my racing skills and provide the support I needed from other runners.

The final payout was remarkable. Running the full marathon was the highest athletic achievement of my life, and I have buckets of fond memories about it.

Last weekend, I rode with my cousin, Steve Mascherino to Myrtle Beach, SC. Two of his children, Curt and Stephanie had registered to run in Dasani half-marathon race.

Friday night, I joined the Mascherinos for the traditional pre-race carbo loading spaghetti meal. I felt the need to pass along some sage advice to my younger cousins since this will be their first halves. Simply, I told them to avoid getting too caught up in the pageantry and to start out slowly and slow down. I told them to just finish even if walking is needed.

My contribution to the race was as a hydration delivery specialist. I was one of many volunteers handing out Power Aid drinks to the 6,000 runners.

Later, Steve told me both Curt and Stephanie had finished in the top 10% of  their catagories. This was quite the accomplishment since neither had done much previous long distance running. I was quite proud of them and more than a little envious.

My hat’s off to these young athletes. They both finished higher in the field of half-marathons than I’ve ever been able to do. I hope they continue to run and enjoy it.

Epilogue: Curt and Stephanie were both able to go out clubbing after the race. On the other hand, I was wiped out from shoveling cups of Power Aid and went home early.

I spent a large part of my working career preparing for retirement. Now that it is here I have what I have, and my life will adjust to this fact. What’s left is to recreate myself in a way similar to Henry David Thoreau as he did in his stay at Walden Pond.

Thoreau sought to live life in as close to its simplest form. He reduced as much as he could in his physical life and in his words, “Our life is frittered away by detail. Simplify, simplify”.

I’m lucky I don’t need to chuck it all and live in the woods. What I’m looking at doing is to find new ways to reduce expenses. I’m borrowing this ho hum idea from the business world in the hopes I’ll give it some of the luster it deserves.

Finding ways to reduce my expenses comes at a time when I’ll have more of the one important element to make it so: free time.

My abundant free time allows me  to: a. make the house more energy efficient ; b. reduce cleaning expenses; and c. find low costs ways to transport myself.

c.    Here’s my three prong system for the last item:

1. I walk as much as I can. Getting there by foot is also part of my exercise program.
2. Anyone – 65 years of age with Medicare – can ride Septa buses for free and their trains for $1.00.
3. If buses and trains don’t go where I want  there is Chester County Rover. Again the cost of admission is my age and $1.00.

b.    Bonus.: http://dad.morris329.com/?p=897 is my blog on low cost cleaning products.

Our Vietnam Veterans of America chapter suffered a great loss this week. One of our most beloved members passed away only one week after we learned how sick she was.

Her name was Mary Lou Amole, and she was a Nurse in Vietnam. She returned home without realizing the level of service she gave her country. She did what most Vietnam Veterans did: went back to her life as a civilian and started a family.

Then the call came out for Chester County’s Vietnam Veterans to assemble as a chapter. Mary Lou and fellow Nurse, Kathy Shields wondered if they qualify. They pushed down their palpable fears and went to the assembly. Early in the meeting, the attendees each spoke about their service in Vietnam. Mary Lou spoke for the only two women in the room. She outlined their shared experiences; sat down and waited to hear the next sharing. Instead there was a thunderous round of applause from all the others. At that moment, she and Kathy understood how much their service meant to the legions of patients they nursed in very trying conditions.

Mary Lou and Kathy threw themselves into making this emerging organization a success. Kathy went right into leadership roles and held them for decades. Mary Lou’s contributions were less public. She took many assignments like mailing birthday cards. She also would volunteer for mostly every chapter project. The chapter ran smoothly in large part because of these two women.

One example of Mary Lou’s service was the chapter’s Adopt a Highway project. Only a handful of chapter members would turn up for the grunt work of picking up highway trash. Their numbers often included Mary Lou. During one outing, Mary Lou was struck by a car while crossing the road near a sharp bend. From her hospital bed, she formally announced her retirement from the Adopt A Highway project. Her humor made the subject easier for the rest to cope with.

During her recovery, Mary Lou received mail and presents from across the nation. The message were almost all the same. They were sorry to hear about her accident, get well and thank you for your service as a Nurse in Vietnam. She was overwhelmed by the outpour.

During the past few years, Mary Lou’s ongoing role was “big sister” to the chapter. She provided sage advice rooted in the history of the chapter.

Now VVA 436 will continue without Mary Lou, but the chapter will retain the memories of her and the lessons of her leadership. There will always be an empty seat when we gather now. We’ll hear her voice in our heads as we speak of chapter business. Her legacy to us will always be what she did for us all.

R.I.P., my old friend. Your time to contribute has ended, but your contributions roll on.

During my earliest days at Maxwell’s Hardware, bossman, Tommy Trego handed a truck key to me so I could make today’s lunch run. He said, “Here take the brown truck”.

After searching the parking lot for a brown truck, I returned and said, “What brown truck?”He took me outside and  pointed to his “brown truck.” He had improperly referred to a black and brushed gold truck as “brown”. I now understood his meaning and vowed to tuck this knowledge away for later translations.

This truck can be described as a rolling wreak where many operating functions like window cranks were missing or partially working. Rusted areas and dents from long past collisions pocked its every surface. I dubbed it “Trego and Son” after the junkyard truck from the TV sit-com, “Sanford and Son”. The thing ran well and responded nicely to a spiffy new seat cover.

I always selected this truck for business trips because I reasoned if I get into an accident I would incur minimal cost damages.

This past week, Tommy painted the brown truck in an olive drab satin color. It’s best be described as a new blanket on an old horse.

My question is for how long we will continue to call this truck “the brown truck”?

Rebuttal:

After reading this blog post, Tommy Trego asked me to add these salient points:

1. This truck is used by a bunch of people who care little how it looks as long as it is available for their use. The truck goes from one person to another on a continuing basis.  Blogger note: he’s right about this.
2. No matter how much abuse this truck gets it keeps on running.  Blogger’s note: good thing a skilled mechanic owns it. Oops: actually it is owned by Tommy’s wife, Mary
3. His description of the truck’s new color is dark duranodic.  Blogger note: I’ll allow this.

When two people become a couple, their families should meet. After several misfires, the Family Morris from Downingtown, PA met the Sterling Clan of Rochester, New York. It happened during Thanksgiving 2011.

It was a given my wife, Lyn and I would easily like this large, Irish family because we already love Beth’s partner, Julie Sterling. They came as advertised by their daughter. They were warm, friendly and great fun to hang out with.

Thanksgiving dinner was held at the oldest daughter, Eileen’s home because the eldest son, Dan’s suffered an ill timed flooded basement. The agenda switch was seamless. The house filled with all varieties of Sterlings: young and old; active and relaxed; quiet and loud. I did no nose count, but I’d guess there were about 35 of them with three Morrises.

We did what Americans do on Thanksgiving. Most men and some women sat around watching football with conversation wedged in between snaps. I learned a lot about all things Sterling during this time. The remaining Sterling women worked hard in the kitchen readying the grand bird and the trimmings.

Our pre-meal prayer of thanks was led by Sister Eileen Sterling. You know all large Irish or Italian families have at least one Nun or Priest to call on for these moments.

After dinner, we returned to the living room where cards were given to Sterlings with upcoming birthdays. Sister Eileen made out quite nicely which is how it should be.

We finished the last of the holiday wine while the same hard working women cleaned the kitchen and divided the leftovers. Grand-Pop Dick got to extract any remaining turkey meat from the carcass.

The Sterling family set a high standard for human warmth this day. Their shining moment this day was making new friends feel so comfortable inside their world.

It was a Very Sterling Thanksgiving.

Jim Fixx authored “The Complete Book of Running.” Imagine the pickle he found himself in after finishing his next book about running. I’ve spirited away *his introduction’s title since I find myself at the same crossroad.

My blog has been titled “Countdown to 11/29/11. This is the day I plan to retire”. Its original intention was to make the waiting more fun until I retired. What to do now that this date has arrived?

I’ve decided to rename the blog, “My Second Half.”.

I will continue to write and present the results to a critical world.  I will continue to have no noticeable theme linking them. I’ll continue to write just for the fun of writing.

Writing is an activity with no downside unless you fear crippling criticism or total rejection. The writer can always choose to not publish his work or in a moment of cleansing joy, just delete the worthless mess. No harm; no foul, and the writer is a step closer to being his/her best.

Sometimes the creation pleases the author. Writers hope their best offerings will please others in some large or small way.

With this laudable goal, I set myself to the coming tasks.