Yano and I frequently talk about retirement.  We dream of idillic beaches, room service, and pi~na coladas.  And rarely are we a day over 40 when we visualize ourselves in the post-work era.  How is that going to happen when 40 is creeping up on us at such an unprecedented pace?  No idea.  But it doesn’t hurt to dream.

Lately I’ve become far more realistic, the 401k being more like a 201k these days.  Now our dreams include a 20 minute drive to the beach (on public transport) with a cooler of Ensure.

I’ve been thinking that when one of us passes away, I can cash in Yano’s life insurance and move to Thailand, where I can at least pay for an assisted living facility with re-runs of Baywatch while I sip my cold Ensure.  Unfortunately, these thoughts have all but come to standstill.

Today we went to Camaron to see some more extended family.  We saw acres and acres of pastures full of cattle and  speckled with small wooden huts.  At each relative stop, we ended up with more and more gifts of fruit, until the local buses felt sorry for us and started giving us free rides to our next stops.  The eye opening thing was to realize that there was not a household without a 90 year old– sometimes two.  A great uncle was out tending cows at 92, and when we returned home we were greeted by the grandma taking care of another uncle.  Grandma’s 90.  The great great great great something rather she’s taking care of is 107.  In 5 months he’ll be 108.  His diet of choice?  Fried plantains, fried corn sticks, and an assortment of other fried things.  Something’s wrong with this picture.

Somehow I doubt I’ll be outliving Yano, as all her dead grandparents were over a century old.  (Oh, except the 95 year old who was mugged for $5).  Now what are my chances of a single Thai retirement when my wife runs twice a day and eats only healthy food with a miniscule dose of daily cookies?  Pretty close to zip.  On the upside, I’m pretty much guaranteed a personal nurse in my later years– a nurse who will probably remarry thrice before dying at 115.

Oh yeah, I broke my tooth today eating sugar cane.  Most centurians I’ve met here have a full set of teeth, but they’ve obviously not fallen down face first on a bike.  Stupid me for trying to peel sugar cane with my teeth.  More details and pictures of this fiasco later.  Needless to say, I’m not allowed to smile while meeting new relatives.