Last week, Kathleen and I took a trip to warmer climes as part of a gambling junket to Laughlin, Nevada. We used to play at a Harrah’s property in Metropolis, Illinois on occasion, so we were on their mailing list. They offered a free charter flight from Minneapolis to Harrah’s in Laughlin (about 100 miles south of Las Vegas on the Arizona and California borders), free shuttle service to and from the airport, a free hotel room for four days and nights, free drinks, and almost all of our food ended up being comped as well. I had been on a winning streak in which I had come out ahead on my last five gambling trips, but this venture broke that streak. We lost money but still had a great time.
As you might expect for a mid-week trip, almost everyone on the flight was retired and older than us. When boarding, they first asked those needing assistance to come forward. What followed looked like something from an old Saturday Night Live skit called “World at War: The Walker Brigade.” In that 1979 parody of WWII documentaries, General Eisenhower organized a secret unit of men using walkers to spearhead the D-Day invasion. His reasoning was simple: the Geneva Conventions forbade the shooting of handicapped persons. About a third of the people on our flight seemed to be members of the “Walker Brigade,” using rolling walkers, wheel-chairs, or crutches of some sort as they headed into battle. When we found our seats and were preparing for our early evening takeoff, I closed my eyes and leaned back, hoping to catch a quick nap during the laborious boarding process. With my eyes closed, the sounds around me were magnified, and I could hear a never-ending chorus of people exhibiting smoker’s cough. Then, as if everyone was given a 6:00 pm cue, I heard dozens of plastic pill bottles rattling; I guess those taking twice-a-day medications had to take their second dose at six. It was all I could do to keep from rolling my eyes and saying sarcastically, “Okay, Greatest Generation.” But just when I was thinking that I had somehow stumbled into some bizarre universe in which I was decades younger than everyone else, I remembered. Oh yeah, I’m 66 years old; I belong here. I was reminded of a classic Walt Kelly cartoon strip called “Pogo” in which a character says, “We have met the enemy and he is us.” It was an epiphany.
After four days of too little sleep, too much drinking, and losing money, we decided it was time to implement what we call, “Austerity Month.” Each year, we select a month in which we don’t drink, we eat better, and we exercise more in an attempt to lose weight and get into better shape. A few years ago, “Austerity Month” was the start of a period of several months in which I lost 35 pounds and Kathleen lost a similar amount. Another part of this designated month is that we try not to spend any unnecessary money. After the “anything-goes” holiday period, we see it as a chance to stop the financial bleeding and save a little money. This will be difficult this year, as we are still in the process of purchasing furniture and doing move-in repairs, but we’ll give it a shot.
Although “Austerity Month” can occur at any time, we invariable choose February for obvious reasons: it’s the shortest month of the year. Even in 2020, a leap year, February is shorter than any other month, so we should be able to survive the travails of a month of deprivation. It is never easy, but it is a nice challenge that we give ourselves each year, and it helps us get healthier on several levels.
Without it, we might end up as part of the “Walker Brigade” for next year’s winter trip south.