The Boomer Chronicles

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Dan the Early Retired Man: Buy My House So I Can Move Posted: 29 Jun 2010 05:05 AM PDT My cousin Dan, who retired in 2009 from the U.S. Postal Service at age 53, is trying to sell his house in Minnesota so he and his wife never have to slog through another crummy winter: I am reminded of the glory days of my youth, flying airplanes under instrument flight rules (IFR). You’re approaching  your destination when the air traffic controller calls your number and sends you off to the dreaded holding pattern. A holding pattern is a racetrack-shaped marking on a map, anchored by a navigational aid that represents a piece of sky. Once you enter the holding pattern, you fly 3 minutes out, make a 180-degree turn, then fly 3 minutes back. You sit there and watch the clock and your fuel drain away. Once you leave the holding pattern, you run your pre-landing checklist: flaps set, gear down, fuel pumps on, then wait for the airport to appear under the clouds. Our lives are in a holding pattern. Our house is for sale and we have not found the right place in Arizona yet. We wait for the right family that needs a well built, well maintained house, on a pond, near good schools in a city with historically low taxes. My wife continues to work not knowing when she can retire while I go to the gym each day and then try to do something constructive before preparing dinner. The thought of another winter in Minnesota is making me crazy. We keep the house as clean as possible. The towels and the soap dispensers in the bathroom are for show only as the real towels are sent to the washing machine on a daily basis. Nothing is left on the floor or on the bed and I hang my bathrobe in the closet every morning. My Mother would be very proud and my wife has dubbed me "a domestic goddess." Everything that adds to the quality of our lives, from the toaster to my digital surround sound system and all the pictures from the walls, are packed in boxes and stored away. Even Terabyte, our 13-year-old golden retriever is suffering as her favorite squeaky ball has been banished to the storage unit. I have called off my yearly fly fishing trip, put off our plans for a European cruise and canceled family visits. When the realtor calls, we run the pre-showing checklist: vacuum the carpets, wash the tile floors, hide the toilet plunger and move the garbage can into the garage. (Yes, we are not allowed to have the garbage can in the kitchen.) In retrospect, the tedious flying of the holding pattern — 3 minutes out, then 3 minutes back — was a lot more exciting than our current condition. This is not living, it's existing.

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