Nice to meet you. My name is Tom. I’m a sixty three year-old single male nearing self-imposed retirement and wondering what to do with all this time. I’ve got good genes (mostly) and if I stay off the sauce I may well make ninety like my Dad. But what to make of these idle hours? I know how to do many things, work wise. I have run hospitals, managed HMOs, sold residential real estate, peddled insurance and, when booze got the better of me, reached my career nadir by returning lost luggage for an airline. I am now a chef, some would argue cook. With a $3 per hour pay differential in this over-saturated market the distinction is moot. But if you really want to know the difference between a cook and a chef (other than the degree to which their egos can be tolerated), I have concluded it can be reduced to this: a cook follows a recipe and a chef follows his instincts. There. Pithy. I like pithy.
Other than cooking, few of my work skills seem transferable to a productive retirement. And my knees are reminding me that bustling around a kitchen may not work out forever. As I look back, I remember that the most pleasure I ever got out of being industrious was in rehabbing old things – especially living spaces. I worked extensively (mostly the landscaping) on a 55 year-old adobe in Fresno, gutted and remodeled a 1928 Tudor cottage in Pittsburg, CA and laid 500 square feet of beautiful Indian slate in a fixer in Edmonds, WA. In every case, I took great pride in those projects and often found myself staring at my completed handiwork…beaming. Though I have made lots of mistakes in my life, the one thing I can say is that I have always left my living spaces better than I found them.
My Pittsburg Fixer-upper
While I admit I know nothing about restoring a trailer, isn’t it just a small house ? (Riiiight)