Mind games with my son

They say (the ubiquitous ‘they’) that playing games that engage the brain is good for us Baby Boomers.

Question: Does getting my ass kicked by my son David while we play chess count?

As we get older, they say, our brains need mental exercise in the same way our bodies need physical exercise.

We need to keep our brains loose and gooey so those synapses can engage each other; we don’t want plaque build up that they say is responsible for Alzheimer’s.

Puzzles -- word puzzles like crosswords or number puzzles like Sudoku -- are recommended. I suspect chess would fall into that category too.

Chess is a mind game, made especially more challenging in this instance because I’m playing from my home in New Hampshire while my son is playing from his apartment in Brooklyn.

As a Christmas gift, David and my daughter Elizabeth gave me a beautiful chess board with pieces made as reproductions of the Isle of Lewis chessmen, the oldest chessmen in existence, probably dating back to the 12th century.

He has a board at home, I have my board at home, and we communicate our moves by texting each other on our cell phones (good thing I have an unlimited texting plan with Verizon, huh?).

We’re using the algebraic method to communicate our moves. The chessboard is set up as an alpha-numeric grid,. So, if I’m white and I want to make a first move with my knight, I might text David a message that says ‘NC3’. (Knight, by the way, uses the designation ‘N’ because the ‘K’ is taken by the king … it’s good to be the king.)

Two problems: I’m lousy at math, and I’m not very good at chess. So I have to think extra hard not only on my moves but remembering the layout of the grid.

David and I started playing chess together when he was a kid, each of us learning as we went along. David, it turns out, learned much more quickly than me.

I don’t think I’ve ever taken a game from him. Ever.

And our remote games, so far, have been no different.

He’s patient. He sees the bigger picture. He anticipates a couple of moves ahead. Hell, he anticipates a couple of games ahead.

I’m impulsive. I tend to attack with too much force and not enough thought.

And yet I play on, for the sake of my brain, but mostly because it’s fun to engage with my son.

But isn’t that the definition of insanity, as least according to Albert Einstein? Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results?

I keep playing David over and over again expecting I’ll win. Apparently I’m crazy to think I will. But I’ll take crazy over Alzheimer’s.

Cashing in on retirement angst

Financial service companies are trying to cash in on the hopes, dreams and angst of Baby Boomers who are in the throes of retirement.

In fact, more and more marketers are seeing the size of the cohort -- and its relative wealth -- as one big cash cow.

From financial companies to pharmaceuticals to cars, we’re seeing more and more advertising that tell us we’re desparately in need of retirement planning and medication to ease our arthritis, lower our cholesterol, and re-erect our erector sets.

On the financial services front, Prudential is the latest to address Baby Boomer retirement through a series of ads (and a web site) focused on that First Day of retirement and what that means in terms of expectations, dreams, hopes and anxiety.

On the web site, you click on a picture of a new retiree and you’ll get their story.

An automobile engineer from Rhode Island, who retired on July 4, 2011, said: “Goals and desire that are realistic will be key to living the kind of retirement I want. Once you’re comfortable in your own skin, life is easier.”

My retirement story started in June of 2008.

I didn’t retire, I was retired.

My retirement eligibility with my company had arrived earlier that year, but I figured I’d stick it out for a couple of years, more perhaps.

I didn’t really have a plan, but economic changes at the company forced a plan on me, and I was given a one-time offer of an incentive to retire. It was the classic offer I couldn’t refuse from the corporate mafia.

I remember my first day of retirement distinctly. Normally awake by 6:30 a.m., I was wide awake at 5 a.m., anxious and disoriented.

Disoriented because, all of a sudden, I had no place to be, no meetings to attend, no tasks to get done by deadline.

Anxious because, all of a sudden, I had no plan for what was next in my life: I had no second act, no encore planned.

(For an idea of what it’s like, check out videographer Mike Kravinsky’s online series about Baby Boomer reinvention, “The Nextnik.”)

It was like I’d been abducted into an alien world of having nothing to do after an adult lifetime in a world with everything to do.

I don’t woodwork. I don’t fix cars. I’m not the least bit handy when it comes to handyman work.

But I can’t do nothing.

I read, I write, I research. So I parlayed skills learned from 30 some odd years in the newspaper business into a bunch of freelance writing and editing jobs that keep me occupied, engaged, and as busy as I want to be.

Financial service companies may want to help us with a plan, but the truth is that a lot of us Baby Boomers don’t have a plan -- we don’t have a financial plan, much less a life plan for retirement.

We’re just going with the flow, just as we’ve always done, making lemonade when there are lemons, guacamole when there are avocados, and plans when there are opportunities.