When a door closes

Slam!

That was the sound of the door suddenly closing several weeks ago on what I believed to be a reasonably secure job.  It was something that I saw myself doing for the next handful of years until I “retired” and transitioned to something that was hopefully a bit closer to home that didn’t require my presence every day.

I had just returned to the office from a week in Disney World with my family and was greeted by the leadership of the organization’s Board of Directors. They told me that there had been a restructuring and my position – and that of our Executive -- had been eliminated effective immediately. Here’s your final check and we’d like your keys and laptop in 45 minutes. 

It was surprisingly sudden and corporate for a non-profit.  I’ll give them credit, though, for acknowledging that the timing – I wasn't back at work 20 minutes – didn’t look good.

After offers of references, if needed, and handshakes or hugs, I was left wondering: as an older worker what was next for me?

Should I dust off the resume; start networking, and apply for any job that looked like a possibility? Given that age discrimination is alive and well in the workplace, how many months would pass before a potential employer overlooked the years my resume represented and instead focused on the knowledge and experience I could bring to their organization?

Or, was I lucky enough to have options that would allow me to avoid what certainly could be a long, frustrating and potentially fruitless job search?

I currently teach part-time at two outstanding colleges in the area. After years of threatening to do so, I had also finally gotten my real estate license in April. Could I pick up another class or two and use my background in marketing and communications to push my wife’s very successful career as a realtor to the proverbial next level?

Over the last few months, we had been discussing these and other options as part of a vague plan to be gradually implemented over the next two or three years. Immediately was never a consideration.

But, instead of crying in our beer(me) and wine (her) to lament my bad fortune, we decided to go for it. So far, it looks like we made the right decision.

I’ve already been offered additional classes for next year where I currently teach and have identified potential opportunities elsewhere.

As I draft this, we’re getting ready to leave a three-day real estate training in Brooklyn with noted industry coach, Tom Ferry. Even though I’ve been around the business for 18 years, I still have a lot to learn and this has been a very inspiring start.

So, instead of being discouraged, a situation many older workers face when they suddenly find themselves out of a job, I’m excited by the potential of what could happen in the years ahead. You might say there’s even a bounce in my step that hasn’t been there in a while. 

I even walked over the Brooklyn Bridge this morning. 

Mom @ 90

Mom and her sons
 

My Mother celebrated her 90^th birthday this month.

She has been living in one of those rehabilitative centers – f.k.a. nursing homes -- for about the last two years.  Before that, she was in and out of the hospital with a variety of health issues. We thought several times that we were going to lose her, but she rallied every time.

“She’s like a cat; she has nine lives,” is how my wife describes her, which is a little ironic because Mom is really afraid of cats.  Growing up we had canaries as pets, because Mom didn’t like dogs either, although she’s now very fond of my brother’s dog, Roscoe.

About 10 years ago, my folks moved to the suburbs and next door to my brother and sister in law, finally getting out of second floor living in the Brighton section of Boston.  Sadly, Dad was diagnosed with cancer shortly after they moved and enjoyed the house for only 18 months.

Mom understands her limitations, but on occasion talks of wishing that she could still be in her own home. I’m sure she never imagined being her age and assigned a roommate, as if she were a first semester college freshman.

Like many of her generation, she doesn’t readily volunteer stories about her childhood.  I do remember her commenting during the bussing crisis that gripped Boston during the 1960s, that she had difficulty understanding the issues between blacks and whites.

She said that there was little difference between the races when she was growing up in the Roxbury and Dorchester neighborhoods of Boston, because “we were all just poor.”

My favorite story about my Mom is how she went on her first date with my Dad.

Two young men had asked her to go on a fall hayride. She couldn’t decide who to pick, so she put their names in one of my grandmother’s hats and pulled out my Dad’s.  The rest, as the cliché goes, is history…

Mom’s had the joy of living long enough to see her great grandchildren. But, she is also the last of her generation. I’m sure it must be lonely at times.

She’s pretty much confined to her wheelchair and her memory and eyesight aren’t quite what they used to be. I’m sure that’s frustrating.

But she’s made the best of her situation.

She takes advantage of every excursion the facility offers; plays blackjack several nights a week, and often doesn’t get back to her room until after 9:00pm because she’s been watching TV or just talking with the many friends she’s made.  {Unless it’s Thursday, when she’s back early, because that's weekly shower night “whether you need it or not.”}

Dancing at the Totem Pole Ballroom

I don’t know how I would handle being 90 and in my Mother’s situation.

Instead of reminiscing about dancing at the Totem Pole Ballroom at Norumbega Park in Auburndale, I’d no doubt be talking about my first concert, Jimi Hendrix in August 1968 at the tent in Framingham called the Carousel Theatre.

{I saw Led Zeppelin there a year later. I snuck in a cassette recorder and taped the show. I’d be living at the beach on my own private island, if I could ever find it!}

If I were 90, I’d consider myself blessed to know my great-grandchildren, but would surely be lonely for family and friends, who meant so much to me.  I'm sure I would also struggle with the latest technology, as I often do now.  

Maybe the best approach to old age comes from 95 year old Betty White:

“It’s not a surprise, we knew it was coming – make the most of it. So you may not be as fast on your feet, and the image in your mirror may be a little disappointing, but if you are still functioning and not in pain, gratitude should be the name of the game.”

If I ever live that long, I hope I can remember that.

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

Sunsets and a Sunrise

While I consider myself a morning person, I'm fascinated by the beauty and drama of sunsets.

They can be a perfect ending to a day we hope to remember forever or the final curtain on a time we want to quickly forget.

My favorite quote about sunrises and sunsets doesn't come from a famous author like Ernest Hemingway or F. Scott Fitzgerald. It's from former Red Sox General Manager Lou Gorman, who passed away in 2011.

In a Sports Illustrated remembrance, Dan Shaughnessy recalled Gorman's reaction to Roger Clemens walking out of Spring Training in the late '80s.

One of my favorite moments in baseball came in the spring of 1987 when young Red Sox ace Roger Clemens walked out of spring training camp in Winter Haven. Clemens was reigning Cy Young and American League MVP. It was a pretty big deal when he stormed off the premises after the Sox renewed his contract for low dough. Thirsty for official club reaction, reporters surrounded Sox general manager Lou Gorman.

Ever polite and accommodating, Gorman answered all of our questions. Then, in an effort to put things in perspective and dial down the hysteria, he said, "The sun will rise, the sun will set, and I'll have lunch."

And so we all had lunch and life went on, and a month later Clemens was back and he won the Cy Young Award again in 1987.

Author Darnell Lamont Walker writes of people who run to museums for paintings, while he runs to the roof for sunsets.

I head to the water.



Clearwater Beach  at Sunset (2017)



Dunedin at Sunset (2017)








Sunset in Falmouth (2016)

Sunset at the Cape Cod Canal (2014)

Sunrise in Barnstable Village 2014

Sunset at Lake Tahoe (2015)

The 64 Question

The number 64 has been stalking me for most of my adult life.

Nine times out of 10 if I glance at the kitchen clock in the morning while making my coffee or my granddaughter's breakfast, it will be 6:40am. At night, if helping to clean up after dinner or taking the trash out, the time is invariably 6:40pm.

I supposed this could be easily dismissed as my subconscious alarm clock alerting me to the time, except that over the years the number has consistently shown up other places as well.

I've never stayed in a hotel room numbered 640, but that's been the number across the hall.

I don't usually go out for lunch these days, but when I do, I often stop at Papa Gino's. Once I thought I would be "good" and instead of ordering two slices of pepperoni pizza ordered just cheese. The cost? $6.40.

(BTW... a sure fire way for me to make my wife laugh is to proudly tell of her of my "healthier" lunch choices -- like skipping the pepperoni.)

The license plate number of the car in front of me will often have the number 64 in it. While stuck in traffic trying to get home to Cape Cod at the start of this past Memorial Day Weekend, the plate in front of me simply read....64.

Craig Kimbrel
 

Watching the Red Sox game the next day, the announcers were noting the great success closer Craig Kimbrel has enjoyed over the past... 64 games.  (Why not a more "even" number like 60 or 65?)

I do have an association with the number that goes back to my college days. WTBU -- the campus radio station at Boston University where I gained my 15 minutes of fame as the first person ever to fire Howard Stern -- was located at 640AM.

To be honest, I wouldn't mind seeing the number 64 on a scorecard after playing a round of golf or in front of six zeros on a winning lottery ticket. So far that hasn't happened. But there's still time.

From what I've read, many people have similar experiences with the same number or number pattern.

I've learned that in standard numerology, 64 is 6+4 which is 10. In turn, 10 is 1+0 which really means it's the number one, which is said to be the most powerful number as it's kind of the "creative force" for all other numbers.

The number one is said to be connected with new starts, independence, new opportunities, inspiration, originality, standing alone, concentration, leadership, determination, self-employment, courage and isolation.

I'm not sure what that all means and how it relates to me. 

What I do know is that having just celebrated my 64th birthday, I will be safely in my house this coming Sunday (6/4), at 6:40am and 6:40pm.

That's too many 64s to take any chances...

Remembering Uncle Allan

My wife’s Uncle Allan passed away very unexpectedly on Saturday.

I’ll never forget the call we received from her Mom as we pulled away from the airport after a very enjoyable and restful week in Clearwater Beach. 

“I just went upstairs to check on your Uncle, because he wasn’t feeling well today,” she said. “He’s gone.”

She said she had called 9-1-1 and wanted to know how soon we could get to her house.

By the time we arrived, only two of a cadre of police officers, who responded to her call remained. I guess that’s standard operating procedure, but hardly comforting for someone dealing with the shock of personally discovering that her only remaining sibling had passed without warning.

Allan was 76. He had “heart issues” and his doctor had told him to quit smoking, but he was otherwise in apparent good health.  He had a set routine beginning with coffee at 6:00am with his cronies at McDonalds. He loved to walk and could outpace many half his age. In the summer, he was a regular at the driving range.

A Navy veteran and confirmed bachelor, Allan worked in the jewelry industry during its heyday in the Attleboro/Providence area. He lived with my mother in law the last few years following my father in law’s passing and the sale of the house where he had an apartment.  She last saw him early Saturday morning when he was smoking on the front porch.

When he headed upstairs to his room, I’m sure he had no inkling that his name was going to be called a few hours later.

But as I got over the shock,  I realized that even though his passing was sudden, he was in an enviable position, because he had nothing to fear as he approached the proverbial Pearly Gates

While Allan was not an outwardly religious or spiritual person, he lived his life by a clear set of values.

He was a man of integrity; honest to a fault. He offered his thoughts without benefit of the filter that so many of us strain our opinions through.  He told you what he was thinking -- not in a mean or malicious way – but more like Joe Friday just stating the facts.  (His reaction upon realizing where he was on Saturday must have been priceless.)

Though I never heard him express it verbally, he loved his family. He took care of both his parents as they became elderly and infirmed. You could tell he took great pride in his niece and nephew (my wife and her brother) and their families.

He was generous. Not in a bang-the-drum-look-at-me kind of way, but quietly around the holidays and at other times.

Though he could have done what he wanted; purchased what he wanted; gone where he wanted, Allan chose to live a modest life.

“He wasn’t as good to himself as he could have been,” is how my mother in law puts it.

His biggest expenditure in recent years was a new car.  He cared little for fancy clothes or expensive dinners.

He loved my wife’s meatballs and lasagna. (The best, by the way.) He always ate too much and took home leftovers.

He had his faults; we all do.  Few of us will have nothing to apologize for when our time comes.

But I like to think that our final grade is based on the totality of our existence and not just on the test(s) that we could have scored better on.

If I'm right, then Uncle Allan gets an A.

What's in a name

How many names have you had over the years?

I realized the other day that our names mark the various stages of our lives. While some stay with us, others come and go based on what we’re doing or who we’re with.

I’m named after my Dad, so in my early years I was often referred to as “Henry Junior” or “Little Henry.”

That was fine until I reached my pre and early teens when buddies or girls would phone and ask for me.  My Aunt Katherine, Dad’s sister who lived with us, responded with the simple question “big Henry or little Henry?”

You can imagine what would follow when I next saw my friends.  So, it was during my freshman year in high school that “Hank” was born.

I often wondered how Dad felt about my abandoning his name. My grandfather was Harry, so I felt a little disloyal to him, too. It wasn’t until a few years later when I joined the Knights of Columbus, where my Dad was a long time member, that I heard everyone there calling him “Hank.”

(While attending K of C meetings I also discovered that my Dad was a smoker. It must have been something he did socially, as he never smoked in front of us either at home or in the car. I don’t even remember him suddenly needing to empty the trash or go to the store for my Mother, which would have been perfect opportunities for him to have a quick cigarette or two.)

For the longest time I couldn’t adjust to being called “Mr. Sennott.” That was my Dad. But, I’ve become accustomed to it now. I still don’t like being called “sir,” but I understand it’s an attempt by the high schooler bagging my groceries or making my coffee at Dunks to be respectful. And I’ll give them credit for that.

“Mr. President” was cool during the two years I headed the Attleboro City Council. On a few occasions during that same time period, I briefly ascended to “Mr. Mayor” when the incumbent was out of town leaving me in charge.

My current names include “Dad;” “Papa,” and “Professor,” along with various tones of “honey,” depending on whether I’m in or out of the doghouse.

W.C. Fields famously observed that “it ain’t what they call you, it’s what you answer to.”

In this era when “throwing shade” is the rage and it’s often hard to have a civil discussion about much of anything, Fields’ wisdom is worth remembering.

It’s the names that we positively respond to, not the one’s we’re called, that define who we are. We have the power to label our unique brand and shouldn’t surrender it to those who disagree with us or for whatever reason just don’t like us.     

We are who we say we are.

 

 

Will you still need me, will you still feed me?

I’m going to be 64 in April.

All those clichés you hear and ignore from older relatives when you’re younger -- stop and smell the roses; enjoy the time while you have it -- are actually true.

I don’t know how I got to be this age. I swear I was 32 not that long ago; or at least 47.

But then I start to think about some of the signature moments in my life and realize that many of them didn’t happen just last month or even five years ago. Some of them occurred decades ago.

I first realized I was getting older last January while shaving. I was thinking about how busy work was going to be over the next few weeks and months and noted that my granddaughter’s birthday was coming up in early April, followed by mine. If she was going to be four that meant that I was going to be…63!

I dropped my razor in the sink.

How did that happen? After 63 comes 64 then – oh my God – 65!

I don’t feel any different.

I don’t look any different. 

Right?

Not really.

I’ve finally grown into my white hair, but there seems to be less of it.  I used to religiously watch Jay Leno’s and before that Johnny Carson’s monologue before going to sleep. Now if I manage to not doze off before 10:00pm, I congratulate myself on staying up late.

I never got the fascination that people like my father-in-law had with Florida. He took great glee in calling us to report the current temperature and letting us know that everything – from the tomatoes to the cuisine at Costco – was better there than back home.

Now, after spending a few vacations in the Sunshine State, I understand what he was talking about – except for the food at Costco -- and watch the price of flights and hotels plotting the next time we can visit. 

I’ve also noticed lately when talking with friends that we spend more time than we ever did discussing our various trips to the doctor, what medical tests we’ve recently endured, and the current status of our various nagging ailments.

As I get ever closer to officially being a "senior citizen," I'm adopting Mark Twain's philosophy that “age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.”

While I’m well aware that there are many more years behind me than in front of me, I’m also lucky to be blessed with a wonderful family, good health, and great friends.

No matter what your age, who could ask for anything more?