Pounding the Pavement...again

It’s been awhile since I last posted anything but it hasn’t been from lack of activities. It is more from the lack of that precious thing that we all wish we had more of and the one thing you can’t buy…time. As I have hinted in previous blogs, we are going to start working. So, let me back up and bring you up to speed on what has happened in the last three weeks. Reta and I left Marathon and drove about 4 hours north to a little city called Lake Placid. No not the one in New York. This one is on the northwest corner of Lake Okeechobee here in Florida. It was here that we went for our 3-day training with our new boss. The three days flew by, as we had to learn the pricing structure, paper work and proper procedures. Now at this point you might be wondering what it is we are actually doing! We are working for a company based out of Fort Lauderdale, Florida. As you might guess it is in the printing industry. Sorry but it’s in my blood and there is no getting away from it. We travel around the country going to different campgrounds, marinas, fairgrounds and executive airports. The company prints site maps for these facilities. Inside of the site maps are the local businesses that the guests might find useful to use and go to during their stay. Our job is to sell the spaces to these local businesses. It requires a lot of cold calling and a lot of knocking on doors but the pay off is well worth it. Aside from staying at the campground for free while we work the area we are paid on a commission basis. If you put in the hours you could walk away with a nice check at the end.
Once we finished our training an opportunity came up for us to work our first job. It was only a couple of hours up the road and we decided to jump in and start right away. We find ourselves here in Blue Spring State Park. It’s about an hour north of Orlando. The park is beautiful and is home to manatees this time of year.
I have really been enjoying going out every morning and working. I feel that this is pretty stress free. No one to look over your shoulder. No reports to write up. No voicemails left at all hours of the day inquiring about my sales. I get to go out and meet people. For those that know me you know how difficult that can be for me.
I am still trying to figure out the best work schedule. I found out today that Monday’s are the worst day to try and find people, especially in the restaurant business.
We should finish up here at Blue Spring State Park by the end of this week. Don’t know where the next stop is but I can only hope it is somewhere warm.

Salty Dog

The day started off like most here in the Florida Keys. I stepped outside the motor home and inhaled deeply to awaken the senses. A light breeze carries a hint of salt as it filters through your nose. The perfect shade of blue is splashed across the dome above with not a smudge of white clouds. High above the frigate birds are soaring in the winds with their split tails extended looking like a serpent's tongue feeling the winds.

After a rigorous bike ride that takes us on a 24 mile round trip, the muscles are screaming to be left alone. With every step the legs get tighter and heavier making it feel like you are walking through thick Mississippi mud in the spring. What better than to head for the beach and waste the afternoon away by just lying on the white sandy beach and soaking in the sun. We were joined by our friends Janis and Jerry. Once we arrived at Sombrero Beach we set up our camp which consisted of four lounge chairs, an umbrella, cooler, books and a paddle ball game. One glance at the bunch of us, a few minutes later, it looked like four pieces of wonder bread all buttered up getting toasted as we lay on our racks for the suns toasting. With my skin starting to get hot from the rays I decided to jump into the water and cool off. As I dipped my foot into the clear liquid lapping the shore it sent a cold chill through my body indicating that my toe thermometer said it is cold. The only way to get into a body of water like this is to just jump right in. This statement would soon be true for someone else. If only he didn't listen to that advice.

As the water hit my chest it felt like a sumo wrestler had sat on it as the air was pushed out of my lungs with the cold. Swimming around to try and get warm my aching muscles just cried out in desperation to end the assault on them. Determined to get warm again I exited the water and challenged Reta to a game of Paddle Ball. Its a simple game that we picked up at some beach bonanza store and have enjoyed playing it whenever we are on a beach. It consists of, for those of you that don't know, two wooden paddles about the size of a frying pan and a small blue ball. The object is to paddle the ball back and forth to try and keep it from hitting the ground. Easier said than done as the wind had kicked up and pushed the little ball around. After 10 minutes of chasing the blue sphere my legs had given up with the pleading for me to stop so they fought back the only way they knew how. Cramps. As I lumbered back to my toasting rack I handed Jerry the paddle to continue the pounding of this innocent blue ball.


Now, Jerry has always prided himself for being an athlete and quickly picked up the game. Janis would look up occasionally from her book to watch Reta and Jerry chase this blue orb. The rhythmic tic tic tic tic of the ball bouncing from one person to another was momentarily interrupted as a gust of wind pushed the ball a little closer to the water. I opened my eyes in time to see the scene unfold in front of me like a slow motion scene from The Matrix. There was Jerry, all 6 foot 5, with his eyes focused on the ball as it drifted slightly to his right, taking giant strides to intercept the ball before it hit the ground. Like a professional outfielder in baseball he had his paddle extended and eyes on the prize. He didn't have the luxury that the baseball player has with a warning track. Instead there was a little mound of sea grass that was strung out along the entire shoreline. Like a scuba diver out of water trying to still walk with his flippers on, Jerry's size 14 foot caught the ridge of the sea grass mound. As his body tried to react and move his legs faster to catch his falling torso he instinctively lowered himself as if trying to lower his center of gravity. Now quickly approaching the cold blue water, his gaze quickly turned to this clear blue liquid. With his arms out stretched and hands splayed open, like a giant sea plane with its pontoons lightly skimming the water for landing, he hit the water. Soon the law of physics played out and his hands broke the surface. At one last attempt to save himself and his pride he tucked his head and with a splash like a brown pelican hitting the water he disappeared. After what seemed an eternity but was really only a nanosecond Jerry popped his head out of the water. With a quick shake of the head reminiscent of a white haired boarder collie, he shouted out..."I'm OKAY". Reta being mortified by the entire episode was on him like a refugee on a bowl of white rice. Helping him to his feet and showering him with "I'm sorry" and "Are you all right". There stood Jerry like a giant salty dog on the beach. His red shirt now clinging to his frame and speckled with sand. His cargo shorts now dripping and hanging from his waist like it was on a clothes line. After the shock had subsided Jerry remembered that his pockets were still full of everyday life. Car keys, wallet, change and cell phone. He didn't have any reason to take them out when he started playing because he didn't expect to go for a swim. As these items were tossed my way to begin the process of drying out I had to contain myself as to not start laughing uncontrollably at the events that had just happened. Jerry insisted on continuing the game but one could see that he silently scolded himself for allowing himself to perform such an acrobatic demonstration of tumbling. Worst, I think, was that I was witness to it all and had the best seat in the house, front row and center. Later Janis and I would take assault on the blue ball as Jerry stood watch with his massive arms spread out like a Cormorant Duck trying to dry off and soak in the heating rays of the sun. You might be wondering how Jerry's possessions fared with their brief soaking in the salt water. Well Verizon, I don't think you can hear me now. Last I checked Verizon hasn't started coming out with underwater phones but when they do I have the perfect commercial for them. As for Jerry? He's fine. True athlete. Didn't get hurt, well maybe just his pride. After a few drinks in the evening it all became more fodder as the laughter increased with each scene dissected and retold. Thanks Jerry for a memorable image and yet another great story to add to our collection.

All in the Numbers

Over the past year we have been all across this mound of dirt called USA and have seen and visited so many incredible places. Places where we had only dreamed of seeing one day. Places that we would see in movies or on TV and dream of being there one day. I guess from everything we discovered the one thing that really stands out for me the most is the people we have met along the way. Now granted that the majority have been a little older than us. But its really just all in the numbers. The fact that they were probably dancing to Elvis at their Prom shouldn't matter. The fact that when men wore shorts when playing basketball and they were so short that you could almost see their family tree shouldn't matter. So, who cares if big hair was in when they were running around in their black shoes with white socks. The fact of the matter is that these people take us in and treat us like part of their families. They have great stories that sometimes leave you wondering about the past and entertain you with funny ones that have you laughing so hard that wish you were old enough to get away with wearing Depends undergarments. We enjoy going out to dinners or just hanging around the motor home while drinking a few cold ones with them. Age is really just a number so why should it matter if one is 40 or 70? I guess what I overlooked is that numbers do really count. After all, 68 sounds younger than 70, doesn't it? One is always wanting to be younger. Getting haircuts with fancy names like "Cesear" or just riding on a motorcycle to feel the skin get tight across your face. Everyone wants to be young. If because they look it or more importantly they feel it. If someone were to say that they are old than maybe it would slow them down and just give them another excuse for not getting off their backside and doing something. Numbers are important. They are a proud statement of how long you have been challenged with everyday issues. It represents the years that you have made a difference in someones life either through direct contact or indirect. The number we call age is two digits of accumulated years. Age is measured the same no matter what color your skin or what language you speak or for that matter if you walk on two legs or four.


At some point in life, I guess, one becomes proud of the fact that they are old. Its like looking at a vintage car and appreciating how it looks and that it still runs great. Sure the style is different than today's cars but it has its very own character and air of nostalgia.

When I sit on the pier and gaze out over the calm blue waters in the Keys these thoughts have been bouncing around my head. Your mind sort of starts running on idle and these little ideas start forming. I guess the seed was planted when we met another couple here in the campground that are our age. Their story is very similar to ours. No kids, sell the house and travel across the country. Their thoughts mirrored ours in thinking "What is the point of working 10 hours a day and not being able to enjoy life. We only get to suck air and pump blood for so long on this rock."
It doesn't matter what age you are because sometimes you just want to be silly.

I can only wish that when they get to driving around this great country of ours that they to will see the beauty. The people that make up this country are really the national treasure. The word "Age" will only really come up when you try and get into a campground that is 55 and older. Other than that, the numbers that represent age will only be thought of as another mile marker post on the side of the road. One can only hope that when I get to a young 68 that I will still have some hair to show for it and be full of life and energy. Still able to make people laugh and feel appreciated. Still be able to share my experiences and advice to make that journey a little less bumpy.

Age is really just all in the numbers.

Rack'em Up and Knock'em Down

It's interesting that even in Paradise you can find the things that you least expect. Case in point...Bowling. When we first passed it I thought, why would anyone want to spend time inside knocking wooden pins over when they could be outside enjoying the great Florida winter evenings? I stand corrected. This is the second time that we have ventured over to knock the white pins down. The group got bigger on our second visit as word spread of the fun. Walking into the bowling alley here for the first time was rather strange since we were greeted in the parking lot by women in beautiful evening gowns and high heels. The men were dapper in their fancy shoes and tuxedo's. What kind of place is this? As soon as we walked into the alley it was like stepping into your mommas house. The familiar sounds and smells usher you in. The same colorful carpet lines the way to the counter where you find the elderly lady wearing a leopard print outfit complete with rhinestone reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose. She is spraying something into the shoes that have been returned. Somehow this magical spray will soak into the worn leather and kill anything. One can only hope.
Once the fancy multicolored shoes are laced up one can't help but break out the Micheal Jackson "Moon Walking" moves in the slippery toed shoes. I glide across the carpet to the large ball rack and start inserting my fingers into the holes until I find one that fits like a three toed sloth gripping a coconut.
At this point I notice the nicely dressed people are celebrating a wedding and are cutting the cake. Holding their champagne flutes high in the air as the couple starts their new life together...IN A BOWLING ALLEY! How appropriate, I guess, as his "new" wife will now have control of the balls in the family. Bowling balls I mean.
The game quickly becomes competitive and the trash talking flows smoother than the beer from the pitchers. Muscles start to ache as they are thrust into squatting positions and twisting gyrations that would leave a yoga master proud. The laughter is a continuous sound along with the sound of rolling balls and crashing pins. I sit back and take note of how a simple game can generate so many different deliveries of the ball. There is the no bending at the waist approach where the ball is dropped from waist level and received by the wooden floor with a thud. You're expecting any minute for the ball to be swallowed up by the old weathered wooden lane. Then there is the approach of throwing it really hard in hopes that it will cause a major quake on impact and explode the pins in every direction. I call it the Shock and Awe approach. There is always the "Poet" approach in the group, where the bowler tip toes to the line and delivers the ball while it lightly kisses the floor as it glides down the lane with a poetic curve only to end with a shower of white pins. And, unfortunately, there is the Washout Approach where it seems there is always a huge rain cloud over the alley and everything gets sucked down the gutter only to disappear at the end of the lane into a black void in the floor. The pins are all still standing in attention and in formation.
Bowling. Who would of thought that even in Paradise one can play and still have so much fun.
You might be wondering how we did since this was a competitive game. Lets just say that one remembers the humbleness of losing when the best bowler that night grew up watching black and white shows and was 30 years old the day you were born. I can only hope that when I get to 70 I'll still have that competitive fire and be able to whip up on some cocky young thing.