Middle Age Mark

Welcome to Middle Age Mark

Our Journey Begins, and boy are we excited!

It’s always nice to welcome someone when you first see them, especially when they come to your place; so, Welcome! Come in! I’m glad you’re here! Kick off the shoes, set down the load, rest the dogs.

I’m Mark, and that little hot thing I’ve got my arm around is my wife Rachel. Our full time home, or “The Big House,” is in the high-desert northwest. We’re on one-heck-of-a-cool journey, and I thought I’d enjoy writing about it as we go.

Blogging is new for me, like so many other things these days. I’m at a stage in life where documenting our adventures sounded like fun. The aforementioned adventure-journey is one of self-discovery, self-improvement, the pursuit of financial independence, and just plain figuring out who we want to be and what we want to do for the 3rd act of life.

A bit about me: I served 20+ years in the U.S. Coast Guard, and then had several shorter stints like hospice, insurance, and building cell towers. I now enjoy working in online public school education as a Master Teacher. After 13 years, it’s still a fascinating profession and always earns me the “…huh?” look when I tell people what I do. My “classroom” and meetings are virtual, and I get to work from home.

How cool is that? Yeah, I know.

I divide my time when not working between maintaining The Big House, reading, mountain biking, kayaking, fishing, riding my cool vintage Shadow, staying fit, enjoying a good martini (gin of course, and yes those last two can go together), drumming, and summers in our better-homes-and-garden back yard. I have a small side project in fitness coaching, too.

Resort De Plummer. We spend much of our summers here

Rachel is in medical management / consulting and she’s really good at what she does. She’s a consistent reliable source of good ideas, wisdom, healthy cooking, and killer one-liners. She gets jazzed by numbers (?) and loves spreadsheets (??), which comes in very handy when we’re strategizing on finances.

Rachel started a little side project a year ago, making personalized greeting cards in the renovated basement / art studio. We’re getting ready to do a few small trade shows to test the market.

We spend most every evening talking. Rachel gets home from her commute and I get out of the home office, we make a drink, and depending on the time of year, we either float in the pool or sit in front of the fire, talking about our day, things we read or heard, things we’re learning, hopes, dreams, plans, appointments – you get the idea. It’s our thing and my favorite part of the day (not just because of the martini, but I can’t say it’s not an aspect).

In January of 2019 we joined the ranks of the Financial Independence (FI) (FIRE) movement. That term can wear many hats depending on who you talk to, but for us it means being debt free with the exception of the mortgage and being able to leverage that freedom. Debt sucks and it’s a drag on life, literally.

We recently purchased a small vacation home in Mesa, Arizona (read: 640 sq. foot “Baby House” with a nice porch and our very own grapefruit tree). It’s in a cool resort where the people are even more cool and there’s tons of things to do. We’re in the beginning stages of downsizing. We sold the boat, the camper, and the roll-top desk. It was all part of our move towards being debt free, which we are aggressively pursuing.

Once we achieve zero debt, which is scheduled for September 30, 2020, our plan is to invest more heavily and be able to make some really cool decisions about the next phase of our adventure. (And by cool decisions, I mean a week for two on a chartered catamaran sans shoes, shirt, and worries. Or maybe a big fifth wheel, pulled by a big Ford 350 diesel, with a giant air horn, exploring the country. All prepaid in cash of course).

Retire is not a word that Rachel or I like. We both picture a crumb-filled recliner that tilts to one side and daytime TV. We like better the idea of being free to choose cool new ways to live life. We get jazzed about the thought of doing what we want to do, when and where we want to do it (like chartering a catamaran). It might even mean still working, doing something we’re passionate about. When it comes down to it, we’re happiest feeling useful and engaged.

Aside from financial achievements and cool dreams, my perspectives on things are changing as I enter mid life. At 57, some might say old age (do we even use that term any more, or did I just illustrate my old-age?), but people are living longer and staying healthier (both of which I plan to do), so I’m choosing to view my 50’s, 60′ and 70’s as middle age. Who’s with me?! 57 is the new 33!

Age brings with it experience, and experience hopefully brings reflection and learning. Learning allows for better choices and more cool new adventures without the “oops,” or as least with fewer and less painful “oops’s.”

Age also helps sift life down to the essential and important things, and it’s easier to focus on direction. It allows for a better sense of who I am and who I want to continue to be.

As Rachel said recently during one of our talks, “I like who I am. It’s working pretty well for me right now. I like where it’s taking me.” I could not agree more.

So, that’s kind of where we are and where we’re going. Thanks for reading; your time is valuable. Writing makes me happy, and maybe I can use this venue to help share some cool ideas and discoveries as we wend our way along this journey. I welcome you in. Lose the shoes. Stay as long as you’d like.

Time to Sell The Boat

For the second time in my life, I submitted my retirement letter.

My second career finding its natural end. In both careers I served many years and was surprised how fast my perspectives changed once they started. From “All in and don’t get in my way,” to, “I think I might be done.”

The first time I retired I was 38 years old and putting the wraps on over 20 years of U.S. Coast Guard service. Fun life, exciting life, varied life. Good pension. I’ve been receiving it now for longer than I served. I loved the job. I lived a lot of good stories. I still encourage any young person to try serving and see if it fits. It’s a good life if you pick right.

I built cell towers for two years in the Shenandoah mountains of Virginia after that and then moved to Idaho with two kids and a rescue greyhound on an offer to be a drummer. No job, no place to live, lots of drums. The five of us lived in a borrowed fifth wheel (thank you, sir) in a lower-end RV park for too long and then settled in and bought a nice house. Not a stunt I’d recommend but in retrospect I can’t imagine now not doing it. I was a good drummer, and I created even more stories. I met a lot of people who were on a similar adventure. Funny how that is: “Oh, you too, huh?”

After seeing an ad to self-study and certify in the public education industry, I took and passed the tests and became an Idaho Certified 6-12 English teacher. If you’re one of my former teachers – stop laughing. I found an interesting opportunity in a new online public school start up and they liked my start-something-and-finish-it-attitude. And away we went. Marketing, teaching, traveling. I finished my MBA, picked up my M.Ed., and moved into a leadership role. In the back of my mind, I toyed with the fantasy of double pensions: one federal and one state. And I loved the job.

But eventually, in both careers, after 21 and 18 years respectively, the drive waned. I’m not sure how or why it happens. And as I began to feel the professional paint peeling, I consistently remotivated and reframed and recalculated. If you’ve lived this, you know the incredible amount of energy it takes to remain invested. It can be exhausting. And whatever that magic was; ambition or hunger or success or natural talent – it just kept seeping out of me like a bucket with a hole in it.

My pilot friend said that after 37 years of professional flying, he found that the stress of the job just hit differently as he aged. He used to like thunderstorms and dodging weather, training every 9 months, and greasing a landing. All that changed as he aged. Weather stressed him out, training became a lot, and landing hard or soft made no matter. He was “losing the edge” and decided to go out while he still had his A game, or at least his A- game.

Like the tides in Maine I knew as a boy, they go out sneaky and quiet, until boats rest on their sides in the sand. My mom would say about resisting life’s inevitabilities that it’s like shoveling shit against the tide. My mom said a lot of things. But maybe it was time to sell the boat and go do something else and leave boats and tides and moorings to others.

So, I did. I was never much of a dawdler when it comes to making changes. Once you know, you know. Might as well get to it. I guess everyone has their own internal clocks, questions, reasons, dialogue. It felt good to do it. Like opening a window in a musty house and letting the spring air in. There. That needed doing.

So, for the second time in my life, at age 65, I penned and sent a retirement letter, this one effective June 2^nd, 2027. As of this writing, I’m about 6 months out. It’s one of my next big life events. I want to do it well, and I’m considering what that looks like. And my fantasy of double pensions for life? Check.

I’m optimistic about the future, my Act III, if you will. I’m fortunate to have time to prepare, whatever that means, and I want to end it like I ended my first career: proud. I had a great run. I’ve done everything I wanted to do and, like my friend, want to go out while I’ve still got at least my A- game. I’m looking forward to freedom and not living by anyone else’s ideas of how I should spend my day. As a matter of fact, I think I’ll just remove most of the “shoulds” from my life altogether.

I’m excited about the opportunity to yet again reinvent myself. It’s exciting to think about the world of possibilities, what I might do, and who I might become.

And I’ve been thinking about a house on the beach.
Wait, would I need another boat?
Uh oh.

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Leaves in my Pool and AI

Is it just me, or did summer end alarmingly fast? Here in East Tennessee, where I live, school starts tomorrow, and apparently, that marks the official end of summer. TV commercials have already shifted to “Now that summer is winding down” teasers. The Walmart parking lot is slammed, no doubt with moms hunting down backpacks and crayons. When I checked the baby pool today, there were leaves in it.

I’ve already seen 2 school buses.

My flip-flops don’t even have proper foot grooves yet.
I don’t have pants.
Or my Zoom shirt.
Or for that matter, any shirt with sleeves.

And although it’s only August 4th, and there’s still a cornucopia of warm-weather essentials to be lived, like watering flowers, shirtless, barefoot mowing, and evenings in the Adults Only Baby Pool Bar and Grill, the sobering truth is that I fly back to Boise on Tuesday to start prepping for another year of online public education.

I love my job. I really do.

And I knew the end of summer would come and school would start again, but I thought maybe, just maybe, there might be an uprising and a national declaration of educational sabbatical and I’d move to the beach and live in a hammock and find cool shells and not have meetings or wear pants.

All while keeping, of course, my comfortable paycheck and state pension.

But apparently, such will not be the case, and Party Summer ’25 will start winding down.

I have a sense it’s going to be a very interesting year. I attended a conference over the summer that led me to believe change is coming. Honestly, probably greater and faster change than we’re prepared for.

The public education landscape is going to realize massive change. It’s already started. A recent headline from AP read that teens say they are turning to AI for friendship. Because I work in online public education, where everything is virtual, I’m on the leading edge of the revolutionary transformation that will alter the fabric of learning.

Yes, it’s an incredibly fantastic tool.
And yes, it can also replace the need to think critically, develop personal perspectives, and master new concepts. Just as doing hard work in the yard benefits the worker by growing physical muscles, so too working hard to master new concepts benefits the learner by connecting new mental synapses and teaching the mind how to learn.

In many ways, I’m curious how this all plays out.
I’m actually glad to be a part of it.
Just like the end of summer, there’s no question AI is here.
And bringing huge change with it.

Still, though, I laugh like a 6-year-old at robot falling-down videos.

3 Things

I mentioned in my last post that I’ve been rolling around the whole concept of retirement in my bean; what it looks like for me, how best to enter into the last trimester of life, how to make the most of it. In staying in the retirement vein, I read in my new book How to Retire and Not Die that a retiree should have 3 tasks they accomplish each day. I think the idea is to make a list as you’re getting your coffee and coming to life, and then try your best to accomplish those 3 Things before the end of the day. Think along the lines of wanting to feel like every day is a success. How can I know if I’ve had a successful day if I don’t have any plans to do anything? Knowing we accomplished something valuable, however small, can help us deem the day as good and well-lived.

Having 3 Things to complete each day can also help stop the days from blurring together. I’m reading that for some who retire, time, and not knowing what to do with it, can become a real problem. Depression can set in when we transition from our daily work identity and pace to, well, empty days. Without work to measure life against, our days can slip into insignificance and uselessness. If you’re like me, and pray hard you are not, you’ll notice that sometimes the less we do, the less we want to do – as we slowly slide deeper and deeper into the chair, becoming more horizontal with every minute. Pretty soon it’s 6PM and nothing’s been done; no shower, no chores, no projects – nothing. Physics is not on our side: a body at rest and all that Newton jazz. There’s only so many Instagram reels we can send before we get mushbrain. Yes, it’s a thing. Look it up.

Sidebar: I wonder where the term Couch Potato comes from and why it’s a potato.
Note to self: Look up Couch Potato etymology and know the answer. Cue the cool party trivia drop.

Where was I?
Ah.
Our list 3 Things for the day should be tasks outside of the standard day’s fare. So, for me, Wake Up and Have Coffee wouldn’t be on my list (Yay me!) Neither would Enjoy a Fine Martini (Gin, Of Course) At The End Of The Day. Those 2 things are more or less something I do every day. So probably Work Out or Make Bed Art wouldn’t be on my list either.
I mean, who can go through a day without either, right?
Heyyyy, what if I listed Work Out While Drinking a Martini (Gin Of Course)?
Could be a whole new bar scene, yes?

…Hmm.
As we can see, AI has some…unique ideas of it’s own.
Wrong tree, ChatGPT.
Anyways. Back to reality.
It’s not so much that our 3 Things need to all be major undertakings, but I do think the 3 Things per day list is supposed move us outside of our norm. Things that are intrinsically part of our day don’t really require much thought or effort or growth, and they bring no real extra value-added to life.

I’m pretty sure that our 3 Things don’t always need to be 100% completed by the end of the day either, depending on how the tasks are worded. So like, Get Information on Bed Making Art Classes in the Area could be one of my 3, or Pick 3 Potential New Books to Read could be one, too. Since most complex undertakings are completed in stages, each stage could be a smaller daily task. Although Exercise would be, for me, not something on my list that would move me enough, Add 30 Cardio so I could lose 4 lbs in 2 weeks and get back to my ideal weight of 190 might be.

The book also talked about creating each day’s list from various categories. Some categories might be Social, Physical, Spiritual, Financial, Mental, Domestic, Relational, etc. So Monday might look like Reach Out To Jen, Add 30 Cardio, and Restart Coast Guard Pension Account Tracker. Tuesday might be Read New Book And Take Notes for 30, Clean Both Bathrooms, and Make New Pork Recipe. Wednesday: Gut Shed and Reorganize And Be Careful Rachel Doesn’t Catch You Throwing Stuff Away, Wash/Vacuum Truck, 45 Cardio and Chest. Even if I don’t get one or more complete, I can carry them over.

I also don’t think every day day needs to be preplanned to the last minute. It might be fun, though, if someone asks me, “So, how was your day?,” to list out some cool things I started, added, continued, learned, finished, made progress on, etc.

And, if having a list of 3 Things is a good plan for retirement, maybe it’d be a good idea to start now while working full time so a solid life-rhythm is established by the time change comes.
Of course, full time work will limit bandwidth and margin, but still, how fun to know life is growing in ways besides professional work.
At this point in my life, I think I’ve done all the career-ladder climbing I care to do. I could also start smaller, say 1 or 2 Things per day.

For tomorrow (Sunday), my 3 Things list is Start College Paper, Rake Front, Complete Data Report. I wrote them on my home office white board. Add my usual Sunday routine of first service, gassing both vehicles for the week, and doing laundry, that should make for a full, well-lived day. And if I don’t get them all done, I can carry over or schedule them for later in the week / month.

Anyways, just something that might be fun. I like the idea of being proactive to time and life. I also like the idea of stretching, growing, and being challenged (I’m not so good at following recipes – more is always better), while also sticking to the things that I just love, like raking the yard and being in the sun and cleaning the shed or garage.

Who knows. I might even get crazy:
Find Small Acoustic Drum Set for Less Than $200
Post Article For Florida Rental Next Jan
Start Redo of Basement Floor
Get Bid for New Shower
Learn About Garbage Disposal Installation
Buy Flower Seeds
Text Friend Who Bought Me The Book And Offer Coffee
Learn 2 New Dance Moves
Look Into Starting Business Called Bed Maker Mark
And well, the list is endless.

Getting Through

I’ve been pretending to work part-time this week. That sounds more nefarious than it actually is. It’s the third week of March, and along with March Madness, it’s Spring Break. If you work in the Public Education industry, it’s yet another week off. Even though my calendar tells me I’m free from meetings and all professional responsibilities, there are tasks I like to get knocked out. One of them is writing employee evaluations. Getting two written per day during the quiet of Break allows time for separation so they don’t all blur together.

My Part-Time experiment this week consist of working any 4-hour period that I choose. Since I work from home, it’s much easier to choose hours. I wanted to experiment with the feeling of being semi-retired. I’ve been sleeping a little later, like 6:30am. It’s luxurious. I’ve been spending a little more time with my coffee and a little more time creating Bed Art. Bed Art is making the bed artistically.
What? It’s a thing.
I like to try a new way every day. I’ve also been spending a little more time at the gym. Lifting heavy things and making noises is still quite fun. I’ve also helped a little more with planning and making dinner. Last night’s creation fell a little flat. I’m much better at Bed Art.

See? Not as nefarious as it sounded.

I’ve been thinking a lot more about retirement lately; ceasing full-time work or whatever that phase of life is called when you no longer set the same priority on employment. I’m watching Medicare seminars and reading articles about Over-60 Fitness. My mom called last week to ask if I’d “Gotten Through.” She asked if I’d “taken the Social Security.”

“Getting Through” is a New England term for retiring. The idea is that you don’t retire “to” anything, you just retire “from” work. There’s no plan to pursue anything, you just “Get Through.” Think of being released from the Gulag. People will shake your hand at Walmart or Church and congratulate you on Getting Through. They’ll ask when you Got Through. If they haven’t Gotten Through, they’ll lament and fantasize about how many more months until they can Get Through. I guess when you Get Through you can also Take The Social Security.

My dad Got Through. My sister Got Through. My mom Got Through at 50 when New England Phone Company folded into AT&T. I guess the idea is that you’re just so “dahn happy” because you wake up the next morning and, well, you’ve Gotten Through, and now you don’t have to drive or deal with people or dress or do hard things. Now you can stay home and play with the dog and watch Judge Johnson and… well…. just be so dahn happy.

I hate the term. I hate the concept.

Retirement seems like it might have something to do with age. I suppose it also has to do with access to funds on which to live. But mostly it seems age-driven, like there’s an internal clock that strikes when we reach a certain age range. I think if I won the lottery my new job might be opening non-profits and digging wells in waterless places and buying shoes for shoeless kids.
I’d also probably keep my job. I like my job; problems, people, and all.

I read about people who retired younger than the average, some much earlier, and many of them seem quite not dahn happy. They attest to a lack of purpose and nowhere to place or find passion. Some found their identity in work, as if what we do to pay the mortgage is who we are. I read about them going back to work after weeks or months of being retired so they don’t go out of their minds.

A new friend gave me a book called, “How to Retire and Not Die.” I like the book a lot. The author talks about the importance of maintaining purpose and passion after full-time work. Why be on the planet without purpose and passion?

I have no plan to retire. I’m not counting days or weeks or months or years. At 63, it’s become a frequent question. I wish people would stop asking me about it. I tell people 3 or 4 more years because telling them I probably won’t retire causes them to twitch and make the scrunchy face; like I started talking demon-talk. They don’t know exactly why I should retire. They tell me they don’t want me to retire and relief-sigh when I tell them Oh-maybe-3-or-4-more-years.
But when I tell them Maybe Never they get scrunchy.

I guess I might think about going part-time when there’s some Exciting Thing that working full time won’t allow time for. I might stop working full time if the Exciting Thing really took up a lot of my time most days – like owning a well drilling company and digging deep holes in Arid-a-stan. I don’t know anything about digging wells and I don’t like getting shot at or captured for ransom or being called an infidel or having my head on a spike, but I imagine it would be tremendously satisfying to help a thirsty kid drink clean water.

Making music is a passion. Maybe I could reform the band and play covers in retirement communities. I’ve been having drummer dreams lately. I’m not so good staying up late so we’d need to wrap up the set list before 7pm.

Fitness is a passion. I could help train mature adults in fitness and maybe help restore their vitality. I don’t tolerate whining though, so I’d need to work on being more uuuunderstaaaaaanding.

Landscaping is a passion. I like being mostly nude in the sun with a shovel or mower or whacker or rake. I move rocks and rearrange wood piles and plant more flowers and make lawnmower art. I wear headphones and dance and sing kinda loud. I’m not sure my style would go over well with some potential clients.

I think I like this part-time gig.
I guess it’s time to write evals.
What a fine day it’s been so far.

I can’t ever imagine Getting Through.
I’m not a Getting Through kind of man.
I might and probably will go chase something else.
Maybe several somethings else.
Somethings worth purpose and passion.
They’re absolute Musts.
They’re the reason to wake up every morning – besides coffee and Bed Art.

Recuperation

Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? –Mary Oliver

“No man has the right to be an amateur in the matter of physical training. It is a shame for a man to grow old without seeing the beauty and strength of which his body is capable.” –Socrates

I was at the dump this morning. I’ve been going a lot as we rebuild the deck. And that’s a story for another time. As I flung Trex and lumber from the truck bed, I pondered life and maturing. As I mature (because I never age) and continue to work out with weights, I understand more about the idea of recovery.

I used to be able hammer my body daily, and I’m still the most active gym attendee I see. Age notwithstanding. I push. I can’t not.
I’m not a goer through the motions-er. I never stop moving; not in a spaz kind of way, but in a focused and completely immersed way. I’m there for a reason.
The earbuds metalcore probably doesn’t aid in me appearing docile.

Maybe some talkers think I’m rude, but maybe others think I’m purposed.
I think some epic famous patriot icon once said, “Ask not what your curls can do for you, but what you can do for your curls.”
Or something like that.

Anyways, recovery. The idea that you’ve done something out of the norm, and you need time to recuperate. As I mature, I find that I’m still doing sufficient loading of my form to create the need to let homeostasis find the front door.
I got after chest this morning, trying some new reverse press movements that even as I was doing them made me aware I’d be sore for days.
One side of my head: “Ooooh, this is fun.”
The other side of my head: “You’re gonna be soooo-rrry.”

It made me smile in a devious shitbird kind of way.
The other side of my head wins a lot.

That’s the idea of physical recovery. Bringing fullness of effort often requires rest. And it’s usually true that the more strenuous the effort the more rest time might be needed.
Some people rest without previous effort.
That’s not rest.
Don’t get me started.

Rest after going all in. Only it’s not really rest, is it? It’s not like my form stops working.
It transitions from performing to repairing.
Healing, really.
Recuperation is repairing. And healing.
I need to be healed.

That could maybe also be a life-principle, yes? When you’ve done something rigorous, or when life has done something rigorous to you, you might need some time to just…heal.
Caution: Healing ahead.

Take a break. Stand down.
As you were. Leave off for a bit.
Breathe.
You survived.
Drop the metaphorical shoulders.
Big, fat, sigh. Fold in.
Take a break. Purposed rest.
Footrest out. Blanket.

God put it in nature, yes?
After the explosion that is spring and summer, then fall and winter.
After the explosion that is orgasm (at least for me), then collapse and oxygen.
After the explosion that is a tornado, then blue sky and quiet.
After the explosion that was the Word, then the seventh day.

I saw and see it in the awful floods that were here in Tennessee and North Carolina this fall.
Houses floating, caskets floating, horses floating.
Energy savagely unleashed. We’re just now seeing some rest and recuperation start to creep in. So needed before people can keep going.
Purposed, focused, taking a break.
Rest.

Work, rest.
Explosion, quiet.
Discipline, cake.
(Ok, two pieces of cake. What? Don’t judge. Eff, I love cake).

We set focused financial goals and lean hard into them.
And then find beachfront in Florida or Myrtle Beach.
We have heavy conversation and then watch Blacklist.
A day of Tennessee hills yard work and then a perfect skaken Bardenay Martini (Gin, of course).

Work hard, then make room and time to set it down, turn loose of it.

It’s important, I think. To be able to be ready for the Next.
The Next will, and should, come.

Rest.
It’s as much needed as the Hard.

It’s actually part of the Hard.
Do the Hard and the Good comes.
Lean into the Hard.
Hate the Hard but use the Hard.

Then seek out the Recovery.

Middle Age Spare Tires

I have alot of tires in my life (yes, I know alot is not one word. But it’s one word in my world, which you are now in. Thank you to those that have emailed to correct me. God bless you. I have two Master’s degrees; one in Education. I’m also big on Oxford commas).

But I digress. I’m not talking about spare tires in the traditional sense of the phrase, “spare tire,” which comes from the Greek word flabous, meaning to sit on one’s ass while consuming large amounts of beer. I’m talking about the more literal, airy, round, spokey, black things that allow us to drive cars and ride bikes and look Middle-Age cool on motorcycles.

I have two cars (well, one is officially Rachel’s but I’m responsible for), a motorcycle, a mountain bike, two street bikes, a wheelbarrow, and a little cart that I attach to my mountain bike and ride to the gym with all my gym-crap (I have alot of gym-crap). I probably look like a weird old guy riding my bike with my gym-crap cart; it has a Bucs flag on it, too. I love that cart. All in total, I have 19 tires that I am responsible for keeping airy and round.
19 tires.
Every day. Every. Single. Day.
19 tires is alot.

Recently I’ve suffered the blight of non airy tires, euphemistically called flat. My tires don’t become a little non-airy, slowly. No. They go instantly flat-flat; flat-non-airy, as in no-airy, zero-airy, smooshed, dead, disfigured, lopsided, void of even the slightest pressure, an impediment to any form of use. Use. Less.

Part of the issue is that flat non-airy tires always comes as a surprise. Like, are you effing kidding me right now? surprise. Like being slapped in a really dark room by an unseen hand (whapsh! Wait, what!?); incredulity on a soul level, on a planet-full-of-souls level.

The dreadful weight of comprehension comes slowly. You always squeeze and re-squeeze non-airy tires, slightly before being overcome and sinking to your knees, hands-to-the sky-Elias-dying-in-Platoon fashion, Why did you leave me, air!

Injustice on a cosmic level. Evil has won. It’s almost too much to comprehend. What did I do wrong? How have I sinned? How could this happen? Why is the universe so PSI arranged? Barnes!

Tragic comprehension gives way to anger, hurt, shock, tears, and the sudden impact that all plans have changed. There will be no airy tires going round and round today, no breeze in the hair, no birds, no humming, no sun; only melted ice cream and dog poop.

Oh, we bargain with the air-gods and try to fix it. Desperate and embarrassingly really. Pumps and patches, we spin the tires like we’re an expert and mutter things like goat head and glass and nail, the full measure now upon us.

Finally, it settles. Push or move the flatness back to where it was before we were aware: flop, flop, flop. We now need to find something else to do, some other way to get there, some way to survive, if we can. Our hope and joy smashed on the jagged rocks of ruin and flatness. We make plans to order from Amazon or get it to a Flat Wizard, and hope that someday soon we won’t suffer from the heartbreak atrocity of missing PSI flatness.

I don’t have spare tires, except for the cars, which according to the vehicle secret treasure map are hidden away in dark compartments that require keys and passwords and hieroglyphic processes.
Should I? Am I being irresponsible?
And if I should or am, why should I need spare tires? It’s like life insurance: I know I’m being ripped off, and even if I’m not, I’m freaking dead! Yay!

I am strong.
I’ll recover.
But 19 tires is alot.

Middle Age Mark’s 6 Awesome Summer ’21 Adventures (2): The Summer of Learning

As Walter Brennan might say in a late-60’s Western: Gawd a mighty what a summer it was!

But, yikes.
What happened?
Where did the summer go?
And, Ok, a good part of fall?

I’ll get to the particulars in a minute. First: I haven’t written in a long time. A long time. Months! I look back at my last post, before the past crazy summer got started, and wonder how the months zipped by so quickly. I dug out my heavy bathrobe this morning (I always want to take up smoking a pipe) and thought, Man. It seems like I just put this away for the summer, and here I am in it again. I should smoke a pipe.
It went by so fast.
And it was so good.

Have you ever been aware that you were actually in the very process of creating nostalgia – in real time? You know, that awareness that this, this right here, this very minute, is going to indelibly score your soul and come back to you someday as, “I had a dream last night we were back there … I want to go back.”
It was that good.
It was that awesome.
It was that magical.
Laptop screensaver stuff.
(Only….in my dream there was this giant cartoon chicken that chased me around the back yard and I was screaming like a little girl and had cement blocks for feet).

All kidding (kind of) and Alektorophobia (very common!) aside, the past summer lived up to every bit of all the hoping, dreaming, and planning that went into it. I covered what we planned to do in the previous post if you’d like to catch up. And honestly, much of it went Better than planned (I should run for Office of Awesome!), some went just as planned (Yay me!), some of it went, well, not quite as planned (who’s idea was this again?), and some of it, honestly, could go in the Went off Half Cocked / WTF!? / Completely Out of Left Field column (don’t look at me!)

But, all in all, I learned a ton. Maybe two tons. I learned stuff that wasn’t even in the neighboring universe of stuff I thought I would learn this summer. Real, Other Universe stuff.
And still, all in, it was one for the record books.

Boise Greenbelt: Not quite as planned

Sadly, we did not get to ride the Greenbelt this summer as we had hoped. I rode a couple of shorter rides, but ended up having weird outpatient surgery on my left rear shoulder and had to wait for the 13 stitches to do whatever it is they were doing back there to do. Rachel also ended up having an unexpected summer surgery which precluded her from being able to ride for several weeks. Doctors can seriously be a pain in the ass.

I did, however, enjoy a very unexpected ride with a good friend into the Boise foothills after “healing.” Sorry honey. He was in very good shape and had a totally kick-ass real mountain bike that he paid like half a million dollars for. It was on this ride that I first learned, in suffocating agony, the difference between my bike (hybrid-street-gravel-not half a million dollars) and a real mountain bike. The steepness of some of the climbs and descents was frightening.
One lung exploded.
I saw Moses and he laughed and pointed at me.
I almost died.
It was glorious.

Maine: Just as planned

The motto on Maine license plates is, “The way life should be.” Our week at the beach, and the week before at mom’s house: was spectacular. Our visit with my mom was memory-making. After my dad died recently, mom decided to sell the house, so much of our first week in Maine was spent packing, U-hauling, dumpstering, sorting, organizing, and making move plans. The work was painfully enjoyable. It’s a uniquely final thing to help pack up your childhood home (Ma! Looks what I found!) We enjoyed the days and then around 5pm we’d retire to the “backyahd” for an adult beverage and rest. Summer afternoons stretched into evenings and then nights, as we made classic, life-perspective conversation. Mom was no slouch when it came to making “winecoolahs” (a precarious and potentially internally combustible ratio of vodka and wine, heavily leaning towards the vodka side).
Gawwd Ma. Wicked Coolah. Pheesh.

After a week with mom, we headed to the beach, and I am challenged to adequately convey the wonder of that beachfront cottage and amusement park. Even the quintessential rainy days were glorious. Everywhere there were families, lines, beach umbrellas, live music, drinks, sand, fried things, seagulls trying to eat fried things, and, of course, “Lobstahs” and “PeeyaFries” (and seagulls trying to eat PeeyaFries). The rental cottage came with two cruiser bikes, and we made good use of them. I found a small gym and used it 3 or 4 times, and added in some beach workouts that bordered on Zen retreats (Sunday morning in an absolute downpour was glorious). I fell in love with the 1800’s architecture, the smells, the sounds (trains at night) and with an adjacent quaint little beach town called Ocean Park.
Please, take me back.

Chicken Sitting: Better than planned

At the risk of slight exaggeration, I feel qualified now to author (or at least co-author) a book called, “Mother Cluckers: My Life as a Chicken Boss.” I think there were 5 chickens, and I was Chicken Boss for one full week (that’s a 7-day week, not a sissy-fiver). I never had to run screaming across the yard as feared. They probably sensed my ~~courage, bravery~~ steely resolve. Once they learned who was in charge, I think they actually liked me. After dinner I’d tell Rachel I was heading out to check the back 40 and the livestock needed tendin’ and to mind the house while I was out checkin’ and not to worry after me. I had a hat and a stick. They liked to hide the eggs like I was a dumb city softie. The eggs were good and I made sure to brush after breakfast so they would not smell offspring on my breath. It was fun, although I did not come away wanting to invest long term in buying a chicken ranch, so that’s good.

Read Two Fictional Books: Completely out of left field

The truth of it is I did not read any fiction this summer. I meant to. I really did. I wanted to be the guy on the beach (Ok, the ripped, muscly, fit guy on the beach) reading a book like he had the whole world figured out. Something with Native Americans or cowboys or pioneers or ship captains. I carried the intended book to the beach and on planes and left it out on tables. I always ended up playing Frisbee or riding bikes or talking to Ma or doing a little work instead. At least for the first part of summer. And then something completely out of left field happened and it took up all the rest of whatever spare time I had left.

We started a podcast: Drinks with Mark and Rachel.

It’s completely mesmerized me. I love not only recording the shows, but find that editing the audio appeals to my technical side. I get lost in my headphone world of editing for hours after each episode. I’ve learned software and audio wave forms and noise cancellation. I researched microphones and music and love the “putting it all together” aspect of production. I’m biased, but as new podcasts go, I think it’s one of the best I’ve heard.
We’ll record our 6th episode today, talking about what we’ve learned from living small.
I love doing it.
I love planning topics.
I love the exchange of ideas.
We became podcasters!

Squat and Press 185: Better than planned

I did it! I actually did better than planned! (Ok, mostly because I am still getting better at math). But I did it! And it felt good. On the Smith Machine, I ended up pressing 235 for one rep (adding up weight amounts can be so confusing!) and I squatted 185 for 4 sets of 5. I’ve started to feel a little thing in my knees sometimes (I mean, 60 and all. Sigh) so I wanted to be aware while still setting and striving for goals. It’s actually been a fantastic fitness summer. I’m actually up several (4) pounds but still look pretty good. I feel great. I’m moving heavier weights again (which is probably why my weight is up), still slamming balls (!), and still loving the workouts.

Bonus Late Summer Event: I’m 60!

To be honest, it was kind of a dud. I mean, in a good way. I guess. It’s funny that at 59 it’s ho-hum-yeah-pass-the-cake-please and just one year later it’s supposed to be glitter popping cannons and pats on the back and you look pretty good (wait for it…) for 60! and how does it feel? I’ll tell ya how it feels: It feels like I should eat almost $100 worth of sushi and have a top shelf martini. So I did. I take back the dud part; it was awesome. Good conversation, good dream-casting, and really good sushi.

So there it is. Or was. The Summer of ’21 Awesome Adventures and Learning. So many memories made. So many smells and tastes and flashbacks. So awesome.

But it hasn’t stopped.

I have two more bombs to drop in the next update.

Necessary Endings

I wrote this post several months ago. I had been thinking about change and direction and those things (and people) that are good and not good in our lives. I had read that we should feel energized and bettered in some way when we’ve spent time with (and energy on) people and / or things like hobbies. It may seem contrary, but the process of making a mental list for consideration created optimism and energy. In light of our upcoming amazingly-fantastic summer, it may sound pessimistic or cynical, but the more I thought about it the more optimistic I became.

I thought about what our Baby House (either one of them) would look like if we never got rid of stuff; if we never decided that some things needed to not be in our lives anymore. A basic truth emerged: that would not be a good thing. I simmered on that for awhile and decided that it’s not just about stuff. Relationships, habits, hobbies, thought patterns, goals, dreams; is this “useful” in helping me go in the direction that I want to go?

What about people? I’m not suggesting that people are utilitariean, but on some level, well, let’s face it, some people are just flat out drags. A friend once called those kind of people “joy suckers;” they suck all the joy right out of you.

Another friend said once that many people are in our lives “for a season.” I’ve had alot of people in my life for a season. I learned a great deal from many of them, and some of them have made significant impact on my life.

Endings are a natural part of life on the planet. The circle of life, life-cycle; all that. Most see endings as bad things, but some endings are natural and good and signal a transition towards better: farmers plow fields under, school years close out, summer gives way to fall, people retire from working and hopefully into a new and exciting life. In some areas of life, when jobs or relationships end, the endings can be uncomfortable to say the least. Often, the reason people make a conscious choice to end something is because they have lost hope that it’s ever going to get better.

Realizing something needs to end is hard and painful. We want to put it in the back of the closet and lock the door and then brick the door over and pretend it was never there. If we don’t see it, it’s not really there. We hold on to maybe-someday and you-never-know.

It might be that someone is acting as a detractor in your life, or the job doesn’t align with your talents or characteristics, or the environment is awful and makes you feel sick, or you’re bored, or tired, or you’re scared. Or you just know deep down you could be so much more. should be so much more. would be so much more, if.

We round the edges and put it off; maybe it will get better, maybe it’s me, maybe I’m looking at it wrong, maybe if I just wait, maybe next week/month/year. Or what if I’m wrong, what if I make it worse, what if I end up with regret.

Endings can be scary.
They signal the need for action.
Action can be really scary.

Hard is good.

But endings are necessary before new things can come.
We (I) need to remember, often, that the good things in life are almost always the not-easy things. Think about the good things you’ve earned, the goals you’ve accomplished.
Tough, yeah?
I bet yeah.

We have to do the hard thing before we get the good thing.
Be careful when you get a good thing too easily.
Maybe it’s not really a good thing after all.

We have to do the hard thing before we get the good thing.
It’s almost a Life Rule: Hard = good.

Hard before good. That’s they way life works.
Hard brings good.

Necessary endings. Ending the fruitless so the fruitful can begin.
Pruning can be a painful process. But then new life grows.
And we Middle-Agers have too much to be hopeful for, and are way too cool, to settle for less.

Middle Age Mark’s 6 Awesome Summer ’21 Adventures

Are we all ready for a non-pandemic summer or what? I know I am. As I write, March Madness is in full swing. It’s a great sport series that makes people optimistic, fills bars, enjoins bracket friends, and makes for perfect spring Saturday TV. Such fun. Every year I fantasize about accepting the workplace tropy amid cheers and cries for speechmaking; also every year the reality sets in that I’ve finished near the very bottom. But no matter; still great fun. I recall the utter pie-hole-agape disbelief when I learned of its cancelling last year. Who could have known at the time the seismic ride we were in for?

It’s been a long year, but vaccine #2 is coursing through my veins, the days are lengthening and warming, and I am SO ready for summer.

We’re in a great place to begin mapping out our 2021 summer. We’re debt-free, back to being a two-income team, investing, giving, and the minimalistic living style has created an almost responsibility-free opportunity to be away from home-base for extended periods. My brain is buzzing with potential summer travel options, not just for this summer, but for several more after that. I’ve learned that days and weeks can slip by if we’re not careful; if we don’t have a plan. I don’t want to look back on this summer and wonder where it went.

Additionally, dreaming and making plans is fun, makes for great Martini (Gin, of course) after-work conversation time, and promotes focusing on our successes – something we all should do more.

Dreaming and planning are the first two steps in the four step process of dreaming, planning, living, and remembering. We’ve dreamed an awesome summer; now it’s time to fit all the fun-puzzle pieces together and make some incredible memories!

Some of the things I have listed are couple plans (done together), and some will be individual goals. And that’s ok! Get them dreamed, planned, and on the calendar!

Ride the Boise Greenbelt

Ok, so maybe starting a little on the tame side here, but riding the 25-mile Boise Greenbelt is awesome, and gorgeous, and relaxing. Did I mention that you can also start and stop at multiple amazing little shops, restaurants, and bars along the way? One of our favorite rides is to start and end at Bardenay’s, where, as luck would have it, they distill the best gin on the whole planet! Who knew! And, this year might bring the extra fun of new bikes! It’s pretty tough to beat a summer day on the Greenbelt with a Bardenay Martini (Gin, of course) at the end!

Old Orchard Beach, Maine

Now we’re stepping up the game! We have a beach cottage reserved for a week on the coast of Maine, in what is probably the quintessential and most-awesome summer New England vacay spot: OOB! 7-mile beach, boardwalk, historic pier, beach-front amusement park, pier fries, clam cakes, lobstahs, drinks on the surfside deck; all right on the beach! Sand, sun, surf, and summah! Some wicked good!

Chicken Sitting

Ok, I’m not entirely sure that’s what it’s called. Rachel and I will be house-sitting for some close friends while they travel out of country, and they have chickens. This, then, is the wild, stare-down-fear, livin’ on the edge part of my summer plans.

To be honest, I’m not sure how I feel about chicken oversight. I’ve never had chickens. I’ve never even been around chickens (I mean, except to eat them and the eggs, and I have eaten alot of chickens and eggs) I’ve heard elders talk about having mean chickens in the olden days. Just how mean can chickens get? And I’ve seen those AFV videos where chickens chase terrorized screaming kids all over the yard (chicken ptsd is probably a thing). What if that happens? What if the neighbors see? What if the chickens take over the yard? What if they can tell I set the record for per-person chicken consumption? Bravery Mark. Press on.

Read Two Fictional Books

I read alot. Daily. Usually in the morning. I tend to drift towards the deep end of the pool. Currently I’m reading about neuroplasticity or brain plasticity and the ability for the brain to adapt chemically based on experiences, especially as it relates to addiction and impulse control. Dopamine, opioids, neurotransmitters; pretty fascinating stuff actually, but not an easy trudge.

I picked up a historical fiction book the other day (The Son by Philipp Meyer) and found that I liked it. I have not yet had the time to do it justice, and there are alot of names and generations covered as foundational information, so I stopped and will need to start it again. Time is a factor for me still, and I feel like I’m wasting time by reading fiction. It didn’t really happen, so what’s the point? I’m hoping to fix this by reading historical fiction; where I guess it kinda-sorta happened-ish. I set a goal to read two of these types of books this summer.

Squat and Press 185 (Smith Machine)

These two are fitness related summer goals for me. I’m having an absolute blast re-discovering fitness lately. I’m learning more and more about using body weight, bands, tubes, Slam Balls, and I’m watching Athlene-X YouTube videos – that guy is amazing. Actually, Sylvester Stallone turned me on to him. As people like me (and Sly) mature, we can’t push the really heavy weights anymore; it’s damaging to joints and connective tissue. But what we can do is train smarter. An older mentor of mine once said something to effect of, “train today to train tomorrow.” Talk about future-minded.

Obviously I look way better than this dude

I also started using a couple of supplements again (joint support and creatine) and feel the difference. So much so that I want to incorporate more weight resistance back into my routine. Nothing crazy heavy, and the Smith Machine keeps it safe and guided. I’m anticipating a very cool milestone this year and I’m very optimistic about it.

Family Time

What would summer be without spending time with family? Now that the virus is unwinding, it’s time to fire up the barbie and get back to partying. Reconnecting will be good. A year is a long time to not get to wrestle with grandkids. All the great electronic communication tools notwithstanding, there’s nothing that beats a lawn chair, cold beer, sunscreen, maybe a frisbee or two, and barefeet in the grass. Plus, I need hugs and handshakes. No masks, no distancing, and no looking back. It’s over. Let’s go.

Ok, one more. (I really do need to get better at this).

I turn 60!
It’s hard to believe, where did time go, and all of the other awful obligatory (last one, I swear) sayings that come with maturing and decade-number-birth milestones. It’s the Big 6-0! Although the core of summer will have passed, it’ll still technically be summer (September 21st). I’m actually looking forward to celebrating this big one. I absolutely believe the 60’s will be my best decade yet. Possible retirement (heh-heh), travel, possible relocation (co-location?), new hobbies, new pursuits, new adventures; talk about exciting. I might even do one of those Man-sexy photo shoots; maybe a fireman (I’ll fight your fire bay-bee!) or maybe a lumberjack (insert favorite wood joke) motif, who knows! The point is I can hardly wait. And cake! How big should a 60! cake be! Right? Ginormous! And with real, numb-your-lips, 200% sugar frosting; none of that whippy crap.

Well, so there it is: Middle Age Mark’s coming Summer ’21.
Fun.
Adventure.
Travel.
Sun.
Surf.
Sand.
Grass.
Pool.
And potential Chicken PTSD (so worth it).

6 Things I Learned From My Dad

My relationship with my dad is hard to explain. Maybe all dad / son relationships are hard to explain. Maybe it’s the different hobbies and zip codes and communication styles and myriad other nuances as kids grow up and make their own way. I wouldn’t say we were close, but I wouldn’t call us distant either. I guess we talked when we had something to say. I’ve long believed that one should try to emulate the good and leave the bad when it comes to others, family or friends.

All parents are flawed (my own parental flaws are, of course, minuscule) because all people have flaws. As parents we do the best we can and ask for the benefit of the doubt. In my case, my parents were no different. Again, the best idea is to internalize and act out the good that parents modeled, and try as best we can to not perpetuate the flaws. Sometimes that’s easier said than done; DNA, nurturing, stressors, and all that. I have and will endeavor to recognize and fix the not-so-good’s of the mixed bag I was handed, and to model in my own life the good. That’s all any of us can do.

In that spirit of clinging to the good, I learned some valuable life-lessons from my dad.

Men Should be Manly. Men should be tough. Strong. Capable. Friendly. Brave. Able to fix things. Able to stand outside the car in the winter while pumping gas. Men should not run from the rain, or any weather. Men should know how to shoot guns, fish, back trailers, and swing an ax. They should bear a few scars, and should know the basics of tools. Handshakes should be firm, tears if any should be minimal, and solutions should always precede, if not replace, complaints.

Men Should Take Action. When I was maybe 6, my dad pushed over a dilapidated 2-car garage. He didn’t ask (it belonged to a relative), he just did it. After the dust settled, he said, “There. Now I guess I need to build a new one.” Men should investigate the noise at night, the squeak in the car, or why the furnace won’t furnace. We should build, create, learn, fix, help, lead, make mistakes, figure it out, and occasionally break things (needed replacing anyways). Talking is nice, but “I really ought to’s” and “Someday I’m going to’s” are wimpy and take valuable time away from actually doing things.

Men Should Eat the Damn Cookie. This is sometimes a hard one for me. I’m pretty careful with my diet. If I can work my brain around to a more metaphorical position, maybe it could also mean to enjoy the good “tastes” of life without so much worry over the little things. Dad was a firm believer in a preset death date; he would die on the exact time and date that was designed for him. Nothing and no one could change that. While we differed there, the belief allowed him to live a fuller and less worried life. Maybe the idea is to eat the “cookie,” savor it, and then move on to what we know are better things. Perhaps this could even carry over into, say, martinis (Gin, of course). (Look at me learning!)

Men Should Follow the Spirit of the Law and Round Edges Where Needed. Dad was a Maine State Trooper for several years. I think he always regretted getting out before retiring. Back then the State Police paid too little to support a young family with 3 kids, so he moved into insurance as many of his colleagues were doing. Dad came with built-in stories. He seemed to hold great tolerance for people that made honest mistakes, and little for those that were dark or disrespectful. He kept a binder of some of the cases and crimes he worked; some of the photos are quite gruesome. Through all the stories, all the people he “let go”and all the ones he didn’t, there seemed a common thread of seeing the good, the goal, and the purpose, and not being caught up in details.

Men Should Take Care of What They Have. This was a big one. Dad was always mowing, cleaning, adjusting, repairing; making things better or keeping them as good as they could be. It taught me to respect what I have and to be thankful that I have it. We don’t need everything brand new (most of what we had as kids was not), but we can keep it in as good a condition as possible. Even older things can be nice.

It’s OK to Do Stuff Alone. Over the years after I left home, all of my dad’s hunting buddies died. As he aged, he moved away from the hobby of firearms hunting and took up archery. I don’t really know how he learned it; it was before the time of YouTube videos and I don’t remember hearing of lessons. He seemed to just decide he was going to learn archery hunting, talked to folks at LL Beans, bought a bow and all the accompanying stuff, and started practicing in the back yard; far too close to the neighbors (sorry neighbors). Tires were punctured, sheds were holed, cats accidentally went missing. But he did it. And he seemed to really love those solitary hunting trips, even if it was just him. He was not afraid to try new things.

I’m sure there are a few more life-lessons I learned from my dad but I guess those are the big ones. He died a few weeks ago, after succumbing to dementia. Covid made it impossible to see him and perhaps no matter there; he was not one for philosophical departing words, or philosophical words of any kind for that matter. We hunted and fished together for years when I was younger, but my Coast Guard career made it increasingly difficult to get home. I’ll fly to Maine in a few days to visit and help with what I can. I’m still processing his life and what it meant to me.

Our last words were when we were departing after a visit and he shook my hand after a little dementia-fueled blow up the night before.
“No hard feelings and let’s just forget about that thing last night.”
“What thing last night?” I said.
He smiled, choked up, nodded, and looked away.

To this day I struggle with keeping my voice during times of high emotions. Praying at family dinners gets a little drawn out while I work to get it back under control. So much for moving orations. Thanks dad.

One of my favorite memories is of sitting together in a field after a day of hunting and watching the treeline as cold Maine November dusk settled. Not alot of words; more a feeling of presence. I’ll miss him in that time. I believe I’ll see him again, and I hope we can sit a field again at dark and watch the treeline.

For now, I think I want to draw his bow and see how it feels.