The Great Divide, new version

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I was reading a great article about pig iron and how it got its name, when a strange idea struck: America IS divided but not by political party or economics, but by facts: Some like them, some don’t. The article about the iron was well written and laid out the story with a beginning, a middle, and an end, all supported by facts about making a hard, but cheap metal. In the background my tv was stuck on interviews with Trump supporters at his Madison Square Garden rally. And I’d just read an impassioned letter to the editor from a Trump supporter trying to get local voters to vote for a Trump surrogate.

It became apparent the Trump Train is all about feelings. The letter writer called the Trump surrogate “tough and empathetic”. Rally attendees talked about Trumps machismo, his manliness, his aura.

The Pig Iron story stood in stark contrast. The story was all facts. No feelings. For months the reason for Trump support was elusive. Just the fact he’d say one thing, do another, and then deny he said or did both, was disqualifying, in my eyes, for leadership of the free world. But it is what APPEALS to the Trumpers. One said “Trump’s shaking things up.”Another said “Liberals are mad because they can’t control Trump. He does whatever he wants.” Duh.

Suddenly, it’s full circle back to common sense, and I wonder if any Trump supporter ever really hears themselves, or pays attention to what they say. It’s unsaid whether Trump will keep shaking things up as a leader of all America, or if he’ll do whatever he wants to us all, and our institutions. Do Trump supporters think about that?

The other billionaire running for an office, Musk, has said when he gets into office there will be short-term pain for America as he guts the government. Yummy. I can’t wait to see that. Musk, who is giving away money, says America needs to be more fiscally responsible and he is the one to make it so. Say what?

The whole Trump campaign is like an R-Rated Abbot and Costello routine. “Who’s on first?”

“Why?”

“Cause I want to know.”

“No. Why is who’s on first.”

Trump is playing it close to the vest, but his noisy, power-drunk posse is already looking to reform the entire United States into Trump World. It will not be subtle, like last time when he put a billionaire hater of public education, Devoss, in charge of the Education Department. And put Mulvaney, who tried to de-fund the Consumer Protection Board under Obama, in charge of The Consumer Protection Board under Trump. Insult and injury to the American Consumer in one appointment.

This time it will be balls to the wall change. And he will still try to win, even if he loses the vote, a fair and accurate vote, denied by all the sore losers for over 5 years now.

So. Will there be anyone left who cares about facts? Maybe Vance, who whined that Democrats called Trump Hitler, when the only significant person on record calling Trump Hitler is…Vance.

Let the games begin. Literally.

The Life or Money Conundrum

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Step 1: definition of conundrum: a difficult problem, riddle, or puzzle.

Could there be anything more conundrummy (sic) than the “end of life” money issue for most seniors? If you’re young and have money, it’s easy to see what to do: enjoy it! While you may not have realized it at the time, that is a rational calculation based on the fact a young person has plenty of time to make more money. Or get raises. Easy come easy go, was a mantra in my young life. Cars, motorcycles, broads (apologies for the dated, sexist–but specific–label), booze, drugs, et. al., at first. Then, education, kids, kid’s education, vacation home, et. al. when maturity was realized. But in each “phase” the unanalyzed(sic) rationalization was enough money would be incoming to support me/us.

But senior financial life is different. As a Chartered Financial Consultant (ChFC), and Certified Long Term Care Consultant (CLTC) in my later years as a Financial Planner, I became acutely aware of the major, deciding factor in any financial planning for most seniors on a fixed income. This factor is so important, I made it the first question of my customer intake questionnaire: How long will you live?

Early in my career, a polite, nice, old lady approached me after speaking at a “Planning Seminar”. She had a specific question: “I’m 77 years old and have $270,000 in my retirement account. How much should I spent today?”

She was articulating a sharp point about the seminar subject of making your money last your lifetime. She wanted me, the ChFc and CLTC, to tell her how long that lifetime would be. Many times, already, I’d been introduced to seniors living on bare necessities, as they anxiously pondered what to do with thousands of dollars in the bank, all the while never knowing if they would be alive when they woke up next morning.

The conundrum delineated: “How does a senior citizen enjoy the money they have before they–or the money–expire?” The word enjoy is the problem. The little, old lady from the seminar, for example, was asking how to spend $270,000 that day as she assumed she would die overnight and not need money anymore, the following morning. She also wanted to know if she did last another 20 years, how could she make sure there was money left in year 20 to support her.

My advice (and any other Financial Professionals) was worthless because it would be based on speculation. I could only give her options. Several senior clients embarked on strict financial plans with complicated financial products to make the money last long, only to die early in the process. And then there were clients who threw caution to the wind and spent like drunken sailors, eventually having nothing for the later years. They outlived their money, but enjoyed doing it.

Note, there are many so much better off than others, with pensions and assets making decisions easy, and erasing all notion of a “conundrum”. But the rest of us will be okay with careful planning, as long as nothing goes wrong with the planning, and if we avoid the major medical issues and family crises which threaten the delicate ecosysyem of our solutions to The Conundrum.

In that past life I was a ChFC, CLTC, CSA, CEP, and licensed Insurance Agent, but was clueless in decision making. I know the options, and share them, but each decision made by a senior has to be based on the guess about longevity and health, a hunch, even a belief in where our lives are going and how long it will take.

Once the decision is made, The Conundrum is gone. And all that is left is hope.

Not a bad thing, really. But scary.

Investigating a new Bromide

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One of the oldest bromides is the saying “you learn something new every day”.

First, before the reveal, do you know what a “bromide” is, and where the phrase came from?

Potassium Bromide is a salt used as an anticonvulsant and sedative in the late 19th and early 20th century. It is rumored that during World War I, British soldiers were given Bromide to curb sexual desires. The salts were then later used as “sedative hypnotics”, a treatment characterized by lazy complacence and calmness. It was that practice which spawned the term “bromide” and gave it it’s colloquial meaning of “boring, comforting cliche”. PS It is okay to think of a “bromide” in a more negative sense. Everyone has a right to their own opinion. (See?)

I rushed through bromide stuff to get to the “new thing” learned today. As a father of two, grandfather to five, and friend to many other parents, the term “tongue tied” has always meant one thing: “someone is unable to speak clearly or freely, often due to shyness, embarrassment, or surprise”, per Merriam Webster.

But (drum roll for the new thing) tongue tied really comes from a form of tongue development noted in new borns where the “flap” under the tongue is too short. Go ahead, take a minute to feel under your tongue and find the stringy thing (the “lingual frenulum”) holding your tongue in your mouth. Got it? Babies are often born with a lingual frenulum too short or too tight, and it leads to a condition called “Tongue Tie, otherwise known as ankyloglossia”. If you’re a parent or soon to be parent, google this condition, if you don’t know about it already. Tongue Tie occurs in 5-10 percent of new born babies and appears to be hard to diagnose and treat, from some doctors perspectives. Tongue Tie’s main medical issue is it inhibits babies attempts to “latch on” to the breast for feeding.

The problem is it is not life threatening, so doctors are free to have their own opinions about diagnosing and treatment, or not. And they do, if you read internet stuff from reputable places. Some say it will cure itself and some say it needs to be fixed immediately, using a procedure know by two names: Frenotomy of Frenulotomy, tongue tiers in their own right.

I never knew a lick (get it?) about Tongue Tie until 9:37AM EST today, and rushed right here to share.

So. In my opinion, you do learn something new every day. From traffic lights to traffic circles, rotary phones to cell phones, we just roll with our new stuff and move on, as we have since the dawn of time.

Second Silly New Thing: baby boys are twice as likely to be born with Tongue Tie, no doubt as preparation for heart-to-heart conversations and marriage proposals.

BTW, my frenulum is perfect.

National What?

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Here it is the end of the middle of October, 2024, and the news finally reached me: it is National Pizza Month (NPM)! How’s that for for good news?

Sadly, October has been NPM since October 1984. First, smarter, better-read friends should have told me, and they’ll never be forgiven, unless they buy me a pizza. Second, the countless pizza places who have enjoyed my cheese and sauce on dough business have never mentioned it, either. NPM has been kept a better secret than the aliens in Roswell. Wonder if it was in the classified documents all our ex-presidents took home. It would have been Reagan, probably some of his damn trickle-down crap. But Bush, Clinton, and the rest, had to be involved in the cover-up.

Sadly, there is no personal benefit to NPM. I’ve asked. In fact, pepperoni slice prices are significantly higher, now, than 1984. Damn you Reagan, Bush, Clinton, Obama, Trump, and Biden for ignoring Pizza-nomics. In fact, the one pizza expert behind the counter I consulted, the one with the nose ring and tattoos, says he/she/them didn’t even know about the NPM honor. We’ll cut he/she/them some slack since they weren’t around for what must have been a national month of festivities in 1984. Hm. Wonder where I was?

But wait: there is a rumor about something significant on February 9th. Oh, yeah, that is National Pizza Pie Day (NPPD). That day somehow became the NPPD in 2000. No one knows why. For fun, Google says “the day recognizes the cultural significance of the beloved dish leading to moments of indulgence and enjoyment”. If you’re wondering, I had nothing to do with it, but I have entered it into my phone calendar. Next year…

Is there more? A deep dive (pizza) in the world of National Days yields another pizza-specific gem: National Cheese Pizza Day (NCPD) on September 5. More? Yes, please! National Pepperoni Pizza Day (NPPD) on September 20.

That’s it, right? Nope. Lets not forget National Sausage Pizza day (NSPD) on October 11. And (possibly) for you nerds, out there, National Pi Day (NPiD) on March 14th. Haven’t learned if that is pizza or math pi(e), but it sounds like it belongs in this discussion.

Research is ongoing about possible deals or benefits from NPM, NPD, NpiD, NSPD, NPPD, and NCPD so I’ll keep you updated.

And I will be founding National Buffalo Chicken Pizza Day (NBCPD) right after my petition for National Breakfast Pizza Day (NBPD) is submitted to whatever organization (National Organization of Pizza Enjoyers? NOPE?) designates the days of celebration.

For those of us who enjoy pizza, that’s every day.

Politics, the Modern Version

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As an Independent who skews Liberal, the opportunity to see Conservative values and policies is often an enlightening and rewarding experience.

I’ve worded that sentence in a precise, particular way, to highlight the dumb-ass nature of current American Politics. Talk to any Conservative who will admit to any Liberal Policy being worth a crap? And vice versa? No. If you’re a modern Republican Conservative, anyone who doesn’t think like you is an idiot. Oddly, if you are a Modern Liberal, anyone who doesn’t think like you is an idiot. When did all this happen?

The Traditional Values the Right likes to claim as their own, are Values shared by every Lefty Liberal I know. And how many Liberals want to take guns away from citizens? A better question is to ask how many Liberals actually own guns. A lot.

Let’s look at it this example: Today, a Conservative offers a 10 point plan for governance. A free thinking Liberal will probably admit (NOT out loud) he supports five of the points. In The Old Days of Political Action that was called a “Starting Point”. These days its is called…I don’t know what but since the ideas are “Labeled” as Con or Lib, zealous supporters of both fire up the insult engine and the discussion is over, except for the bleacher activity where each tries to pull the other’s pants down.

This crazy stuff started before Trump, but he gets props for understanding how to capitalize on an electorate of–suddenly–idiots. Since the 80’s there have been many strident, bombastic, conservative voices who made a great living telling the usually apprehensive Conservative population anything NOT Conservative was worthless. Gingrich, Limbaugh (Yes, the one Trump gave the American Medal of Honor to), Beck, and then O’reilly, and Hannity, all painted non-conservatives as Non-Americans. I never heard the same from any loud, famous, and ultimately wealthy voices on the Left, but maybe there was, most certainly in response, at some point.

Then Grover Nordquist, the famous anti-taxer, began his campaign of making Conservatives sign a Pledge (google the Taxpayer Protection Pledge) to Lower or even end, taxes. If a Conservative didn’t sign the pledge, the non-signer was voted out of office in the next primary season. Sound familiar? Right now, in this past primary year, Republicans urged all voters to ONLY vote for Trump-loving candidates.

So. Did the Liberal side sit on their asses? No. Now, any non-Liberal thought is a threat to Democracy, with the capital D, And “both-sideism” has become part of the modern political lexicon.

So here’s what is lost: a good, conservative idea during a Liberal Administration, and a good Liberal idea during a Conservative Administration. Neither will ever be considered. How about a thoughtful, intelligent, Conservative politician running for office in a Liberal Gerrymandered area? Or–again–vice versa?

I may have an idea how this crap started, but I’ve no idea how to end this. Anyone else?

All I can say for sure is America is NOT the land of responsible adults, anymore, and I suspect we all need to look in a mirror of our own, not our news silos.

As a humorous aside, Trump is not even a Conservative. Ask Grover.

Caveat: because of space, everything is over-simplified. Do your own research, especially into the Contract with America, 1994.

Early Morning Something or Other

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It’s 1:30 am, EST, and I’m not only awake, but rested. The Yankees won, so, that helps. And Aaron judge finally homered. Yay.

My days, lately, have inverted themselves. I sleep/nap a lot in the day and spend the night wide awake, rested and wondering about all the things a 20-year-old never had a clue he would be wondering about 52 years later. As a possible misanthrope, (don’t know where to go to get a fair and accurate diagnosis) it’s a pleasure having fewer people awake and milling about, doing nothing but making noise. In this area of upstate NY there are no 24 hour stores, or fitness centers, or any other place to wander around, so here I am. I’ll be at one or the other my fitness centers when they open at 6, and be back to my apartment, toned and refreshed, by the time most everyone else arises and starts to ruin the world.

This early morning post is obviously going nowhere, more like therapy. The daily dose of news has been consumed. The times for the day’s sporting events have been entered into my crowded schedule. I’ve checked my credit union to make sure my identity has not been stolen and money siphoned from accounts. Finished my Kia Warranty paperwork for Limpy, the car that shut down on me while driving. Getting it repaired was a thoroughly enjoyable venture into the world of corporations who communicate poorly and care little for 72 year-old health-challenged humans who need their car. Nuts, to them. They won’t have me to not call back much longer.

As a slower burner of calories, it’s time to plan the days food festivities. Being disabled has reduced my step rate from a healthy 8-10,000 a day, pre-Calamities, to the current dis-respectable average of 2,500 steps. I allow myself the luxury of not worrying about it, anymore, since swimming doesn’t translate into steps, so…I’m good.

I should probably go the bathroom. Maybe a piece of toast. Too early for 120 calories of carbos?

Huh. I’m tired. Just now. Just like that. 2am and back to bed. Not bad. Wonder how many calories I burned typing…

Words, but different ones…

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When you view life as a certain state of being and allow its eccentricities to be the fabric of your existence, beginnings and endings fade away. The nature of eternity, endless space, and a higher power greater, even, than the sum of all in this known world, yields an understanding maybe not quite right but inherently capable of satisfying human inquisitiveness.

So it is when you enter the world of The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows, written by John Koening, and published in 2021. My internet friend, Wikipedia, says it is an “English word-construction project seeking to coin and define neologisms (new words) for emotions not yet described in language.” The author apparently started the project when he could not find the right words to use in his poetry. American ingenuity at its finest, yes?

You should do your own research, trust me, but here are some of my favorites, including “sonder”, the original word which tickled my fancy so much a rush to the bathroom was required to avoid dampening my boxers. I’ve paraphrased definitions to fit more in, but take a look at the book and website of the same name for more mental exercise and amusement.

SONDER: “noun, the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own–populated with their own ambitions, friends, worries and as much inherited craziness as your own.”

EISCE: noun, “the awareness of the infinitesimal role you play in shaping your own society.”

KENAWAY: noun, “the longing to see how other people live their lives when they’re not in public”.

Hm. These three words, alone, distill years and paragraphs of college dorm room discussions into three nouns. At least for a private, Liberal Arts school. It’s fun to imagine, too, how new words describe things new to humankind. Imagine a caveman feeling any of these words, and wondering “is it just me?”

As modern life exponentially grows in complexity, it makes sense we need new words to describe the mental, emotional, and physical realities humans encounter as they grow with it, but is it socially efficient to simply make up or own words? Fick, (sic) if I know.

I do know that if everyone sondered* more the world would be a better place. If everyone was aware of their eisce we’d be a humbler, intelligent society instead of one full of minor, local dictators trying to change reality. And if kenaway becomes a legal defense for peeping,…”Your honor, I was simply kenawaying*.”

The best part of the whole word discussion is…the discussion, the dialogue. New words, old words, it matters only if we understand them, use them, and share them in thoughtful, humane conversations, sog sam it.

The only true fear is for grammar and punctuation. A world with new words, misplaced commas, no periods, and an epidemic of dangling participles will be the end of us all.

*I’ve always hated turning a noun into a verb, but it’s so much fun…

Personal Issues of Men and Women

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A few days ago I wrote about a personal issue between me and a partner of 21 years.

My sad details are irrelevant but the important part was the “mechanism” of relationships, including how to start them, nurture them, and end them. Obviously my current concern is the end, but let’s not lose sight of The Start. A dating website has discussion groups entitled “Who should make the first move?” and “Should you wait for him to ask the first question?” Hm. As a young man, wondering how to start things never came up: I dove in without regard for personal safety.

Now, in the senior years, many of us are not only unsure of how to make the first move, but also unsure if we should. Are we allowed? Is it proper? These questions can still be answered with the exuberance of youth: Dive right in. Most seniors still won’t, but consider the option: waiting? The object of your interest may die before you get up the nerve.

Nurturing a relationship would take too long to explain and I’m not the best at it, anyway. This last was the longest ever, and it still did not last. We’ll talk nurturing, later.

But The End…in years of my own personal relationships, and those of close friends, The End is never simple, never easy. The Christian concept of forgiveness adds to the problem. Many a female in my past was in relationship characterized by mistreatment but kept forgiving, kept enduring. Is that wrong?

In discussing human problems we allow for the spectrum of human behavior, but in this discussion we will only deal with the “two people who truly love each” other scenario, the one where both–over many years–collect and pile up small injustices until they become a molehill. Eventually, one of the participant’s molehill becomes a mountain and a “switch is flipped”, which cannot be “unflipped”. The one with the flipped switch then needs to exit, to find relief, to find something new, find greener grass. The remaining partner never understands because the remaining partner looks at their molehill and wonders “I put up with theirs, why can’t he/she/them put up with mine?” The defining characteristic of this ending is that both departed and remaining partners think they are right, think they are the victims, and are the aggrieved. The worst case scenario for intelligent, well-meaning people.

Yes, I’ve experienced this, but been there for many others, male and female, when it happened. In reality, neither is really wrong, but friends and family take sides, anyway, and then…well, anything can happen. It doesn’t help to mention to all the “two sides to every story” nugget. It doesn’t help to say time will heal everything, either. With this ending, both sides suffer, and have unresolved questions about why. And sometimes unresolved questions cause irrational acts. Ugh. Again, everyone suffers. And the two actor’s communication falls apart, ending all hope.

Maybe this ending is an American thing. Maybe our rich and powerful drug companies could develop a pill for endings/divorce that wipes out memory and leaves both participants with a clean slate. It would be a moneymaker.

But it is life. Having The End happen is not new, but to have it happen at a senior age is. The “time will heal all wounds” becomes irrelevant. Moot. Much like seniors.

It is still life, but a new kind, an unexplored territory with a definite horizon in the foreseeable future, for both of us.

Time to dive right in.

Tuesday Morning Wha’??

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On Tuesday morning, October 8, 2024, God (Of any denomination) saw fit to install a rainbow outside the balcony of my apartment. It was awesome. Spectacular. Divine. It was full size and the entire arc of its beautiful design could be traced with my finger. I took lots of pics and videos but mainly stood there, jaw dropped, while the camera clicked away. The rainbow was so bright…and it had a partner. The second rainbow ran parallel to the first for most of the arc of the first, but didn’t have enough oomph to make it all the way. For moment I felt bad for the second, but then remembered There’s Two rainbows outside my window!

Never, ever have I witnessed two rainbows at once. Not in over 72 years filled with rainstorms, morning afters, and weather catastrophes. Never. even after Our Tornado this summer.

The colorful entities filled me with a sense of wonder lasting hours, and never fully dissipated until after the hours of rain the rainbows had presaged. There was a feeling of satisfaction, too, that someone, somewhere, felt I deserved not one, but two morning rainbows. My life on earth is being monitored and appreciated. The Boss had noticed my work!

A reason the awe and wonder faded was as the morning went along, I talked with others and they, too, had seen two rainbows…just before the rains. I wasn’t the only one….

Who cares about the others? The rainbows were there for me. The ‘Bows became a sign, an omen, to me. The rainbows were a delight, a blessing, a message to remember what’s important in life, and not stoop to cheating, lying, and taking advantage of others in our modern, self-centered world. And to remember to be happy with enough, and not long for too much more than what we need.

Then, another thing happened: contentment washed over me and settled in my pockets, my hair, and all the horizontal surface areas of my body. Even up my freshly plucked nose and recently shaved ears. I felt it burrow into my beard. It was going to be around for awhile. I wasn’t going to shower, ever.

As with the rest of you, there is a lot going on in our lives. Whatever it is, whatever bothers us, it’s nice to know a rainbow (or two) can make it all go away…for a day or two.

Why? Whyyyyy?

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I was confronted with the worst thing imaginable, yesterday. Worse than The Calamities. Worse than another Yankee loss in the Playoffs. Even worse than–yes–my hair finally turning gray.

A now former, well-thought of friend sent a picture of my new born family from over 50 years ago. It was not asked for, not deserved, and not accepted with the grace and humility you’d expect from the mature me. It’s very existence threatened my contentment and fostered ill—

Who am I kidding…it was really cool to see a snapshot of what life was like 5 decades ago, before smart phones, before the internet, when a car could still be repaired with pliers and a crescent wrench, two adjustable tools with the power to screw or unscrew the world! (“Screw the world” was a slogan from the the radical 60s, a fact unrelated to the featured, fantastically flexible tools.)

The feigned umbrage was the first immediate response to viewing the pic when the mind was shocked into asking “Who in this whole, wide, wonderfully alliterative world wants to add to its suffering by reminding me of the time when the bulk of life was in the visor of my Easy Rider motorcycle helmet, not in the rear view mirror of those cars I used to be able to fix. What was this dubious friend’s endgame, the destruction of my carefully crafted contentment? (Apologies for show-off alliteration?)

It only took moments, however, for the swing of the mind, the arc of reason, to return to how grateful I was to make it through those younger years without major health, romantic, intellectual, and sexual disasters. It was dumb luck kept me free from DWIs, unwanted pregnancies, severe financial losses, and voting Republican. Any one of those catastrophes might have changed the upward line of my life to a flatter delineation, even pointing down, to where–if I remember correctly–some old girlfriends strongly and stridently suggested I go.

The reader can see I’m drifting. Lost the point of today. A successfully, albeit, accidentally, navigated past life is one to be savored, and one should sit back in The Chair and thank a great and all powerful God (of any denomination) for first, giving the gift of life, and second, not taking it away, prematurely. There were deaths in the past of those who did not deserve it, and were often too young to make sense of, but it was never me. I made it.

From that declaration, it’s an easy stroll to the idea of who helped, who made a difference, who cared…and maybe why? An English teacher’s casual remark to an 8th grader. A coaches push to do something different. An ex-girlfriend;s unintended, but hurtful comment. A young doctor willing to take a chance on an out-of-the box reconstruction of damaged body parts. An interesting best friend at the best time. A traffic cop willing to obey the rules of fraternity instead of the law.

I should stop, now and get to The Chair. No telling what else will bubble up, thanks to The Picture…

Yes, thanks.