age

The Decline and Fall of Nuance

ness23456 Tags: , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Nuance is a great word. It sounds cool, is interesting to spell, fun to say, and it is still shiny from lack of use. Like keeping your new car smell by not driving. Ever. In fact, it’s doubtful you even know what nuance means, and you certainly don’t know where the word came from, do you.*

Nuance. The word comes from “nubes” the Latin word for cloud but then the French got involved and romanticized it into their own word for “shade” or “slight variation”, per Ai. My Ai goes on to add in the lovely English accent I selected: “Think of it as those little, delicate distinctions that can make a big difference.”

Imagine all your conversations so far today. Nuance ever come up? Not just the word but maybe “the little, delicate distinctions”?

It’s doubtful. America learns to read and write and stroke screens but thinking, especially about “little, delicate, distinctions” is an effort left for…who?  Modern dissemination of facts and news has to be condensed into the 3 second (or less) American attention span. Unless it is a kitten, gossip, crepe skin, or has boobs, we don’t linger long enough for nuance. Do we really need it, anyway, that stupid French word?

Aha. Since you’ve made it this far you have decided we do. And you are right. A recent puzzle indicates why: “try to draw a perfect square with three straight lines.” Much like 2 plus 2 equals four unless you’re adding apples and oranges and not caring about the total amount of fruits and want to know…crap. Two plus two always equals four if you add context, or nuance, the little delicate you-know-whats. Eg; If you have two apples and I have two apples, we have four apples between us. If I have two apples, and you have one orange and one pear, we have a great start on a fruit salad, but not four apples.

To draw the perfect square with three straight lines, some add “distinctions”, like using the edge of the paper as the fourth side. An arguably “out of the box” solution but the puzzle itself already supplies the distinctions.** As we review our journey into the Land of Nuance, we learn to ask what does “with three straight lines” mean? If you’re sensitive to nuance, a “meaning” spurts out of this puzzle and longs for you to see it.

So what? We have trouble with a puzzles. Or counting. Big deal. It is a big deal. There is not a problem we face as a country, that is not loaded with so much nuance it’s a wonder we don’t sink into the oceans. All our problems like Wars, the Economy, Immigration, politics, work…all nuance-rich and ready to be emphatically debated, discussed, and solved. Nuance flourishes in trees like low-hanging fruit, on the ground like exposed diamonds, and floats in the very air we breath.

But we ignore it. We stumble over the diamonds, let the fruit rot, and nuance floats off into  space, a twilight zone none of us ever go to.*** Then we try to solve world problems we don’t understand with nuance-deprived solutions that don’t work and we look back later, and wonder why. Finally, we engage in nuance-free discussions about who’s to blame.

If you’re thinking this sounds like a domestic dispute leading up to a divorce, it is. Nuance is missing from our personal lives, too.

Nuance is obsolete. Whose fault is that?

*Added “do you” to avoid the dreadful prepositional ending. Got lazy, sorry. I should have looked for a better sentence structure. It would have been shorter than this explanation.

**Do I need the quotation marks anymore?

***No. Ai says it’s okay, these days. Worrying about prepositional endings is “old fashioned and clunky.”

Annoying Things

ness23456 Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Anything about life in America you find annoying? Here’s a partial list I spent all afternoon organizing. Small, un-backlit keyboards are so annoying.

Why would anyone care what Brigitte Bardot looks like, now? Or the cast of Happy Days? Or a breathy headline: “Where are they now?” about the Monkees? A new rule: if you give us these updates after a certain length of time, you–whoever you are—should update your article on a regular basis. Tell us about the cast of All in The Family every 5 years, or until you, the writer, pass away. And if you’re going to show us what Brigitte looks like now, make sure you put a “before” picture alongside the Now.

So many on-line news articles are about what somebody said about someone else. Example from today, March 31, 2026, from InStyle magazine: “Prince Charles Asked a Friend This Heartbreaking Question Before He Married Princess Diana.” Let’s not talk about how old this subject is, and let’s not talk about who the pronoun (He) is referring to, (see next paragraph), but let’s try and assume the target audience of this article. Or, let’s not and just agree it wasn’t me. So why did it come across my AOL news screen?

America has a problem with pronouns and preceding nouns. First, we’re lucky, these days, if there even IS a preceding noun. “He went out the door” without context might mean God went out the door, for example. A pronoun takes the place of a preceding person, place, or thing that has already been mentioned. And to avoid confusion, we should endeavor* to keep our pronouns and their partner preceding nouns as close as possible. Our choices in the headline above are Prince Charles or The Friend. Those of you with knowledge of Diana’s wedding can extrapolate* the correct noun, but those of us who don’t care are entirely within our rights to blame The Friend, especially just before The Friend married Charles and Diana.

Puzzles. Who needs them? Actually, brain teasers are the real problem. What’s black and white and red (read?) all over? See the problem? What makes it worse is the breathy headline: “You’re a genius if you can solve this problem,” printed next to a picture of a wild-haired Einstein.

There is an educational quality to a good puzzle however, which makes my confession annoying. Get this one: Can you draw a square with three straight lines? This oxymoronic brain buster reveals an important glitch in our lives. If you get the answer, you are in the top 1% of Americans, even though the answer was on the national news this week. Ai it for some fun.

Old Man’s Memory is annoying as hell. It took me 10 minutes to remember Einstein’s first name. No, I did not look it up. Memory is a waiting game, now. Things I knew yesterday I may not know today, but they may come to me tomorrow. Older friends tell me I’m lucky they come back at all. And there is that European Study about memories not being accurate, just gangs of electrical impulses…

Forgot where this was headed, but The Matrix concept is being revisited if I could remember where I saw the article.

Feck it. I got my blinds fixed today. Hallelujah!

*What a great, big word!

              What To Do With Old Memories

ness23456 Tags: , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Years ago, when mom died, you all read about the 20 plastic totes of memories in the basement of her house. Pictures, articles, obituaries, birth announcements, first communions, wakes, and simple stuff like when the girls were photographed jumping rope in 1973 and the picture was printed in the paper. IN THE PAPER! In 1973! The old paper stuff feels important, historic, even if it is just two little girls and a rope on Embargo Street in Rome, NY…in 1973.*

The “Sorting of The Totes”, a family tradition since the Middle Ages**, resulted in mountains of memories and momentos being distributed to each totes’ primary focus. Each child, grandchild or miscellaneous stranger had their own tote. Mom made two for me, her favorite.  At the time of the distribution, we all probably did the same thing: took a quick look and put the tote(s) up on a shelf.

Eight years later, in 2024, in preparations to move to NY and recovery, both my totes were front and center in the back of the car. In April 2024, the totes were picked up, carried to the door of the apartment house, set down in the elevator to the second floor, picked up and carried into the apartment, and put on a closet shelf. For two years. I can’t remember the reason for recently pulling them down and going through them, but the event was mind-boggling. The totes are both a Pandora’s Box*** of—

Ai says opening Pandor’s Box “released all of the worlds’ sorrows: disease, old age, famine, jealousy, and death.” They came flowing out and spread all over the world. Mom’s totes aren’t like that, are they? Maybe. Looking at photos of people from The Past, with most being complete strangers, can cause sorrow, and most of the subjects of the photos and articles are dead, so, there’s that, too. Look how happy they were, how joyous, how young, and how invincible…jealousy? Envy? Relief? Foretelling future deaths? Even seeing my 3-year-old myself bundled up for an afternoon of roiling in the snow inspired the question of why we have to grow old, can’t we stay young, forever? Then there’s the journal mom kept when she visited Switzerland, lamenting the cold while admiring the beauty. Her words in her time, now in mine.

Bet you don’t know the end of the Pandora’s Box legend. I didn’t, until Ai recited the entire story. After “The Sorrows of The World” poured out and spread across the globe, there was one thing left in the box. Ai says it was trapped in the bottom, under everything else, and Pandora didn’t see it, at first: One last gift from the gods.

It was hope.

When you look at photos of generations of relatives and friends and strangers who are no longer on this plane of existence, when you see how bright and alive they were, you begin to wonder, to imagine how much of your life will be in a plastic tote, and how soon will it happen. The existential question is normal, human, and helped a great deal by the The Hope stuck in the box, but it is still a question.

Unlike the original sorrows flitting away into the world, what do I do, what do WE do with the totes and their contents?  The Memories. What happens if we burn them, throw them away, or cut them up? Does it affect those no longer here? Does it make them “more gone”?

Screw it. Lunchtime. Everything back in the totes and back to the shelf. Life will take care of them somehow, sometime. Sorry kids, it’s your problem, now.

            *Yes. Repeated for emphasis. Please get the point.

            **Not really. But it should be.

***Really a ceramic jar, but it was mistranslated early on and the mistake stuck for all of eternity. Read the entire legend, it is a “theodicy”, “an explanation of why there is evil, suffering, and death in a world that might otherwise be prefect.”

Funny Things That Happen In The Personal, Non-Trumpian World

ness23456 Tags: , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

First, no one can keep up with the Trumpster. When he’s awake, he is the best at chaos and funny things. And his acolytes, too, most recently the way they are calling him—according to RKF–“a deity”. But old people see the signs.

Second, so many funny things happen and when they do, I say, “I need to tell people about that.” And then I don’t. I forget. That’s not funny, that’s sad.

Some funny things…okay…memories will come back…soon…just give me a minute…they’re right on the tip of my fingers…okay got one.

The shooting of the lady in Minneapolis is—stop. Not funny.

In my morning walk at Turning Stone Resort and Casino (TS), my favorite slot machines aren’t paying out. Yeah, you’re right. Not funny.

Our friend Bill from TS has returned to our morning workout group. He had open heart surgery around Thanksgiving and has been recovering. He’s back! They gave him clearance to resume all his normal workout routines and general gadabout walks in TS. Bill is 84. Ok, not funny, but heartwarming, good news. I’ve got 10 more years! Eh, we’ll see.

Another nameless friend from our group, who’s age we won’t mention* is still out, though. She is older than me but younger than Bill and she let’s her nameless, ageless husband come with her to our workouts. He is a likeable enough guy, but he spends too much time in the locker room. Just kidding, nameless partner of nameless infirm lady whose age is nameless, too. We kid because we can all take a joke. A helpful trait in this modern world.

Still nothing funny, but a clear theme is taking shape: most seniors lives are not as involved as Trump’s. Now that IS funny: This world is being run by a soon-to-be 80-year-old man. Those of us at, over, or near 80 know what life is like at that age and wonder if being a billionaire and buying everything you wanted in life would make us qualified to Rule The world with Our Own Morality. What is funnier than that?

Got one! George Burns: “When I was a boy, the Dead Sea was only sick.”

And “Too bad all the people who know how to run this country are busy running taxicabs or cutting hair.” He said this years ago, but these days it might not be a joke.

But life humor–from George–at its finest: “If you live to be 100 you’ve got it made. Very few people die past that age.”

Maybe funny things don’t really happen, anymore. Maybe there is an Executive Order preventing them. If there isn’t, it sure feels like there is.

A wise man once told me “You can live in the past, present or, future. I chose too live where my feet are.” For us poor, unimportant, cast-off old people, enjoy every second, even if you can’t remember it.  

*Name and age can be mentioned if she gives approval. She’d be immortal in these annals. Bill doesn’t care about name, age, or annals. He probably thinks annals is something else, anyway.

Strange, Unconnected Things…Right?

ness23456 Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

My fitness centers computers went down and staff could not “swipe” us in to workout. They put out a form to sign. A paper form. Most workouters (sic) take as little as possible into the gyms for security reasons. Reading glasses are not needed, so I had to ask the clerk to sign me in to the dimly lit facility. It was not embarrassing.

A recent report says the Shingles vaccination has helped maintain heart health in a large study of those who received the vaccine. It motivated me to get the shot. Vaccines are wonderful things, unless you’re the small percent who might be allergic to the contents. I think of the shots as a civic duty. Ai says about 2% of Americans suffer from the peanut allergy. Of all the shots Ai was asked about the reported rate of allergic reactions was never over 1%. Note the word “reported”. When analyzing any medical issue in your life you are unique, but anecdotal stories are not research, even if they are true. Yes, those of us who never suffer allergic reactions are lucky to not be in that “less than 1%. Besides, much like the weight loss drugs, boner pills, and now shingles shots, there are often surprise, positive side effects.

I set up an online appointment for the shot and arrived at the shot site 5 minutes early. They didn’t give me the 60-second shot until 23 minutes after my original shot time. * Why? It doesn’t matter, really, if only they’d tell you about it. I sat with another retired man whose appointment was late. We didn’t really mind but as you sit there and minutes drag on you wonder, when? And then you wonder “why can’t anyone say something?” as well as “why bother making appointments?” The shot-giver gave me the scoop on how to just drop in and get a quick shot in the future, without waiting or appointment. No, no sharing secrets.

As much as I might pretend, coming to grips with a chronological age has still not happened. It’s safe to say at every age all of us never know what we really look like to someone else, especially if we say we don’t care. But what should a 29-year-old look like? A 39-year-old? A 59-year-old? A 73-year-old? It was never a “waste time on it” thing until lately, when the age of those in the vicinity creates curiosity. It doesn’t help that no one has ever said you look good/bad for any age, ever, so why wonder about it, now? As long as I never look like that guy, over there…

The CEO of IBM says 65% of American jobs will be lost to Ai in the next few years. Artists, sports players, waiters, hospitality staff, will probably all be safe “Who wants to watch robots play baseball?” A news story shortly after the CEO showed a robot butler already for sale in the United States. It took the robot 5 minutes to place one glass in the dishwasher.

The robot’s price was $20,000. See? This is where income inequality really hurts us. Imagine how long it would take a $200 Robot to put a glass in the dishwasher. No word, yet, on how many rich people have purchased the Robot. Note: all through these paragraphs there is a small “r” robot and a capital “R” Robot. Anyone see more Proper and Pro Noun Wars in our future?

There was going to be an update on the progress scientists are making with Quantum Entanglement in communications and computing. The applications and breakthroughs are happening by the second, so just look it up for yourselves, and marvel at the sub-atomic world.

The area I live in has been “droned” for several years. If you don’t know what that means, get on You Tube, search for “drone views of My City” and watch what happens. There is something inspiring about seeing life from above, a reminder, maybe of how small and insignificant we really are? Nope. A reminder of how beautiful the world can be…most of the time. And if you’re lucky.

Any Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young fans? Google a 2011 Venice, California High School charity concert with David Crosby and a variety of musicians including the school’s choirs and bands. It is the best live concert performance this writer has ever seen…on tape **…on YouTube. I am a CSNY fan, so…

*Too much math? If a man arrives 5 minutes early…

**When will we replace “on tape” with something current” “On-Digital”?

An Undeniably Senior Observation

ness23456 Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

It isn’t fair, but as we age things get difficult. We know this intrinsically, but I have proof: A Google Watch connected to a Fitbit App on my Samsung Smartphone. Out of curiosity, I stopped the google watch one time after monitoring my calories lifting weights, running, or swimming. Then I restarted it for showering, drying, dressing, and walking to the car. The result? More calories were burned after workouts while getting dressed than when lifting thousands* of pounds or swimming scores* of laps. Odd. But when you consider the “Activities of Daily Living” (ADLs) and “The Instrumental Activities of Daily Living”(IADLs)** the reason getting dressed burns more aclories than the workout becomes obvious: difficult things like lifting weights are still difficult, but easy things—like putting on pants—have become very, very difficult. I’m working out hard, now, to get in good enough shape to put on my pants!

The first thought was The Calamities were responsible. Arthritis, for example, made putting on socks an adventure in stretching, tugging, and twisting leaving me breathless after just one foot, and needing a short break before attacking the other. (No, the “assistive devices” on the internet were not helpful, except for the addictive “Reacher”, as chronicled earlier.) And the drive home is usually with socks twisted and bunched inside my slip-on shoes because there was no longer a desire to see just how fast my heart could beat. Google “orthostatic imbalance”.

Pants. Let’s talk about pants and their*** sadistic cousin, the swimsuit. The Calamities made dressing standing up next to impossible. Think about it, healthy people: putting one leg at a time into pants or a swimsuit while upright. Even putting either on while sitting is an exercise in hope, combined with several side-shifts, strategic tugs, and covering the sitting surface with a towel that has a life of its own. Getting pants off is a breeze until you have to pick them up off the floor. Same with a wet swimsuit, and you always hope the floor is clean. Aren’t they all in fitness centers? To summarize: off go the pants, on goes the swimsuit. Stop for breath, Go swim. Return from workout and off goes the swimsuit and on go the pants. And unless it’s summer, The Socks, too. (Capitalized for effect.)

It doesn’t help to have odd-shaped feet and fast-growing toenails. My feet (and hands) are tapered and are beautiful in their form, slanting down to each side from a higher, central middle digit. Very pleasing to look at, but when trying to slip such a foot into a pant leg or the genital sling of a swimsuit, that taper guides fabric right to the small toe, where no amount of trimming can keep a nail from growing just enough to catch that fabric and require a formally athletic and aerobically fit male to have to bend and tug and hope the fabric will release in time to prevent a stroke. Again: orthostatic imbalance.

Wow. Look at this post. Whine, much? I’m not sure how so much time and typing got wasted on dressing but for some reason I feel better about life, as if letting the world know how hard it is to get pants on makes my life so much easier. Cathartic posting?

The need to whine is over. The Calamities have been pretty much tamed and their return or advancement is not anticipated. Most of the arthritis was surgically removed and replaced with titanium and something akin to Teflon. So…when will life return to normal, with easy on and easy off attire?

Is there any reader out there over 70 years old who knows the answer? There’s no surgery that can help old age. No drugs to stop it in its tracks.

It appears the last 3 years have been a blessing in disguise, then, as my settling into old age “normalcy” is way better than dealing with those dastardly afflictions. I’m ready for anything life can do, now.

Yes, my glass is half-full. What about yours?

And since this venting felt so good, get ready for the next post where you will learn about the effects Image Guided Radiation Therapy (IGRT) can have on your digestive system. IGRT is an Ai guided procedure performed by a linear particle accelerator and you will read a harrowing tale of focused sub-atomic star-wars beams, loose stool, tattoos, unexpected gas, and…cliffhanger!

*Really? Thousands and scores? The mind…

** If you’re wondering about getting older, or are old already old and wondering what’s happening to you, google these two, ADL and IADL

*** Apology for the needless anthropomorphism. It’s a fun word and concept.

Older Things Young People Don’t Care about and I’m Not Holding My Breath

ness23456 Tags: , , , , , , Leave a comment

In the last month I purchased a new tv, picked up some medications, added some shelving to the bedroom, and transferred a CD at my credit union. There wasn’t a single document for any of these transactions that could be read with the older, naked eye… even with “readers”* and a hand-held magnifying glass. It’s possible my checking account now contains a vitamin D supplement. Assembling the shelf required a chair, three light sources, the magnifying glass, and an hour nap upon completion. My particular situation may be different from others due to The Calamities, but it needs to be asked: Why is print so small, and getting smaller? And does anyone know what contrast means? Often light black type is used with a light gray background, especially online. It is aging, I know, since after typing in size 12 Times New Roman for 60 years, the size of this post is 14 Liberation Serif…at least until published.** But size 20 is easily “seen” (pun?) in the future.

I need a pill cutter/splitter. Never has there been a need, urge, or even a mistaken opportunity to use that phrase until August 17, 2025. Good or bad? Since it’s such a new subject, wonder if any young person DOES need a pill cutter/splitter…for any legal reason, anyway.

Altering any physical position is an adventure. Political, emotional, and life positions are still very welcome to change, and often do, without warning. But—in old age–arising to the vertical from a horizontal requires timing and advance preparation if a smidgen of grace and personal honor are to be maintained. (Or artfully exhibited?) Even going from vertical to horizontal is a challenge, too, if in public or anyone is watching. What is done in the privacy of one’s home need not be revealed, but the word “plop” may convey an accurate image. Even then, good eyesight and correct aim are required. (See first paragraph.) And—for the readers sake—there will be no mention of public toilets.

Writing a post like this could happen daily, if one lets it. Seniors are the most persecuted, ignored, and scammed cohort of people in America, and possibly the world. (With the exception of maybe, babies. Is that spoonful of mashed peas really an airplane coming in for a landing?) So letting others know how bad we have it becomes a daily routine, as if it never happened to anyone before and the challenges are all new, seen by us for the first time in this world.

But nothing is ever new and neither are our complaints. The only comfort we can take from our constant listing of grievances is that even those who don’t listen to us will understand eventually, if they’re lucky enough.

So why still complain? As the great Doctor Wright says: “If everything seems to be going good, you have obviously overlooked something.” And I needed to post a piece. It’s been awhile. And I’m tired of Trump stuff. Aren’t you?

*eye helpers placed all over the places we occupy because we can’t keep track of one pair.

** I’ve no idea the size or readability of this post after publication, when you read it. My laptop is set to enlarge everything, and my phone display only goes so big, so…if you have a complaint about readability, sit on it. No one cares.

Older Life Tips. Not OLD, Older…

ness23456 Tags: , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Life doesn’t get easier with age. Here are some thoughts.

My eyesight is great, even with Age-Related Macular Degeneration (AMD). AMD slowly robs your central vision…if left untreated. Get an “Ainsler Grid”, or simple sheet of lined graph paper, and tape either one to your refrigerator door. Look at it often, one eye at a time, and if any of the lines get wavy, get to an Ophthalmologist as soon as possible. An optometrist might be able to diagnose your AMD but he/she couldn’t treat it, so get to an OPHTHALMOLOGIST. If the word is too long, google “Retina Specialists” in your area. Of note, learn the difference in eye medical professionals.

Vision is great but not young. I suffer from the standard old age loss of “elasticity” in over 70-year-old eyeballs and need help with fine print. Like the smaller and smaller instructions on Tyson chicken about how to cook it. Or how to take prescriptions. You can buy “reader” glasses almost anywhere or pay your optometrist (sic, learn) for a fancy pair but if you’re like the rest of us who use them only for reading, you’ll need several pair (I have 10) spread around the house and car. They get lost, often, as if they have legs. Most often they’re lost on our heads. Since you need so many pairs, you don’t want to pay a high price for them. Dollar Stores have “trees” and trees of $1 readers in any magnification you need. They are just small magnifying glasses. The dollar store models really should not be called glasses because they are made of plastic. They work perfectly if you don’t scratch them, and if you do, buy another bunch. Like 10? My eyes were getting a little fuzzy, one time, and it made me wonder if my eyes were getting worse. Maybe a higher magnification? Thankfully, I was smart enough to see it was the plastic lenses getting “foggy”, not my eyes. A moist wipe didn’t clear them up, so I planned a dollar store trip to get cleaner, new ones. Google it! Yes, I did and after dropping all my foggy plastic glasses into warm water with a little dish soap, wiping with a paper towel, and letting them dry,—voila!–my eyesight returned to normal. Sadly, I was both pleased with myself, but angry it took ten years, and google, to learn how to clean “plastics”. Hope this one helps someone.

Try to remember the world is getting less and less interested in you and what you have to say. It shouldn’t need to be mentioned, here, but…life has passed us by. Get over it. If you pay too much attention to car and beer commercials, you’ll get depressed. For comfort, enjoy the prescription drug commercials: they are meant for us and young people with problems. But do not think the drug companies care about you, they want money. And, yes, young people do have problems but don’t “help” them by pointing it out…unless they ask and even then, be careful

Recent conversations with younger and older people have reminded me of how complex, diverse, exciting, and possibly fulfilling our old lives have been . If you feel bad about being passed by and rejected by modern society, close the blinds, turn off all electronic devices, and revisit your past. If we can remember our pasts, every one of us achieved something, saved something, earned something, did something, or otherwise enjoyed the heck out of our lives in those long-ago years. Celebrate it all. Blow your horn. But to yourself. Write it down, Record it with video or voice. Besides the self-therapy aspect of letting it out, imagine how much everyone else will miss you when they read about your life and what you’ve done, what you’ve accomplished, what you have survived.

And that’s a good place to end: The End. If you reached a certain age, especially if you’ve made it longer than the average life expectancy or lived longer than your parents: Woo Hoo! Champagne for all.

But let the kids pay for it. And don’t drink too much.

Randomies and Bits and Bobs…again

ness23456 Tags: , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Yeah, it’s a made-up word. I’ve been watching too much British television. So? Doesn’t it sound right?

I’d like to ignore it but there has been a lot screeching from the Trump administration about upholding the law. Bondi, Leavitt, and et. al., have parroted Trump in the shouting about obeying the law. The irony is lost on them and it’s okay, but sheeesh. Have some pride, for goodness sake. Just think “kettle meet pot, pot meet kettle.” At least be a little quieter and show some humility. An old saying of my father’s comes to mind: “it’s better to keep your mouth shut and be thought a fool-” You’re a smart reader, you know the rest.

Same with the “liberal bias” nearly everywhere in Trump World. “Fox meet MSNBC, MSNBC meet Fox”. And not for nothing but the “free press” has always been seen as the opposition to the sitting administration. In Trump World Fox is part of the administration so that might be why when the whiners complain of bias in the “main-stream media” they never mention Fox.

A randomy (sic) of note: nearly all of Trump’s Executive Orders deal with, imply, reveal, expose, and try to remedy the insecurity displayed by the MAGA movement. Everything not kissing MAGA’s rings is a threat.

DEI. If you want to see what DEI is, go out to eat in a big city with a partner. Know what the biggest problem will be?: You want Chinese or Italian? Korean? Mexican? Viet Namese? Schnitzel? Creole? Southern?

Or music: Latin, classical, rock, hip-hop, polka, K-Pop, soul, reggae, or any one of the many styles?

And sports fans will rue the day Trump orders all professional sports teams to be made up of only American, white, Christian players. When I wrote this I tried to see how Native Americans fit in it, but, alas. Can you do it for me? **

DEI is all around us. Grow up.

Most Americans, and this includes MAGAs. are incapable of understanding complex issues. That lack of understanding is the major reason we still have big, unsolved problems. The deportations Trump is rushing through, for example. Not one single American thinks deporting bad non-citizens is wrong. Not one. For those that have working minds, the problem isn’t any one individual, but Trump is throwing out so many people, so fast, the only way to get the point about “due process” is if you imagine it happening to you: sent to CECOT by “mistake”. “Administrative error”. The calculus is the same as the death penalty argument: No one is really against the death penalty for someone who “deserves” it, but after so many convictions overturned, for example, do you think it’s possible we, us, America, have executed one, single innocent man?

For some real immigrant fun, watch the Movie “The Gangs of New York”.

Trump’s efforts are being supported by an “the end justifies the means” argument. Again, fine, as long as you are not the one being “ended” by mistake.

In a previous post I mentioned how hard it is to talk with senior people. Another, happier reason not to is how long it takes. Bill (name not changed, there are no innocents) and I often talk before early morning fitness routines about the past. Bill is 84 and has a larger, longer past, but when we talk it isn’t about troubles but about those pasts. He’s 84, driven, successful, gregarious, while I’m lazy, misanthropic, and happy to get by, but the stories we tell are about the same things. And they are all funny…in a slightly wistful, nostalgic way. I’m 110 (sic) per cent sure neither of us exaggerates the stories, but the most important part is this: Bill tells one, I think of two of my own, and I tell one and he thinks of three of his own, and he tells one and I think of ten, and I tell one and he thinks of 20…ad infinitum.

To shorten this story, the pre-workout morning is storytelling and laughing,…with, sometimes, a hint of “did that really happen”? And that “hint” is not about Bill’s stories, but my own, unless he feels the same way and when we part we both go home thinking: “Did I really do that?”

Life is wonderful if you live long enough to realize it, are fit enough to remember it, and find someone who cares to hear you talk about it.

**wonder if anyone is offended

Personal Things. Look Away, if you can

ness23456 Tags: , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

Older friends have been lamenting being older. Whenever I’m around these conversations…well…

But you can’t change life simply by ignoring it. It is true we change as we age. And especially if we want the impossible: to be left alone and never grow old.

Sadly, the only solution is to not be around “older friends.”

But younger friends…well…

This past Easter was spent with family around the table. Not one was within 20 years of my age. Conversations swirled around things and ideas I’d either never heard of or heard of over 50 years ago. The constant juxtaposition was astounding. It created a hole in the fabric of conversational time where my contributions appeared irrelevant, meaningless, unimportant, and so, unspoken. It was as if there was nothing to offer.

But…so what?

As a young man I never thought I was the center of the universe, but I did matter. Life progressed, things happened, and then life started to wind down. As the “winding down” happened, life was adjusted, tweaked, re-defined, but in small increments. It was healthy, like eating broccoli in small bites. Anywhere the body was, the body adjusted and found ways to exist with some measure of happiness. Purpose, fate, bad luck, God, none of it was ever questioned for a purpose or an expected explanation. The main reason for the acceptance of change was there was lots more time to live, lots more to accept, lots more to adjust to…years more opportunity for hope and improvement.

So, imagine the surprise when you suddenly realize there is no longer “lots more time to live”.

This isn’t about death. For us as young people, death is a far-off rumor with an import never understood until you can figuratively see the whites of its eyes, and the realization it is inevitable takes a little of the sting out of the realization it might be here. And we hope it’s happening is a peaceful event.

But…does it sound like fun wondering if Age-Related Macular Degeneration (AMD) will eventually make you blind and unable to curse the Yankees? Or if a small muscle in the anus (the sphincter) will stop working and make diapers a part of your old age fashion? Is “dribbling” in your future? (Look it up, but for the “non-sports” definition.) Will the bad kind of plaque (Oxford’s good definition: “an ornamental tablet, fixed to a wall in commemoration of a person or event.”) render all these worries moot? Cognitive impairment: a blessing in disguise? Who knew? Even worse, under a certain age who ever thought about it?

Death, then, is not feared as much as slowly, incrementally, dying.

As young people we may have accepted the inevitability of death, but did anything or anyone ever prepare us for the inevitability of “dying”, losing parts of ourselves as if on some sinister, sad, stupid schedule? And without “lots more time to live”?

Give me death when it’s my time but please, fate, stop chipping away at life. I’ll die in peace, without complaint, if God will let me, but if there are other plans, that “schedule”…I’d rather not know.

Crap. That means avoiding old folks who want to talk about it.

Eh. I can live with it. At least until the damn beta-amyloid builds up.**

** Hope you researched the correct “plaque”.