book-review

Best Friend or Romance…Let’s Not Call The Whole Thing Off

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I am an older gentleman who has lost or misplaced many friends. Three best friends died before their times by accidents or disease, and one got swept away by the strong currents of a cult*. Others were lost to career moves, love, loss of love, family matters, and irreconcilable differences. Life had blessed me-at this stage of my life–with lots of “peripheral” friends but no Best Friend** (BF). Don’t view that as sad, and—in case you were wondering—I had nothing to do with the deaths. Stop watching Crime Shows.

It was age 50 when the rule only a male could be another male’s best friend went in the garbage bin with the Members Only jackets and loose-fitting jeans***. Females of our species as potential, non-sexual, long-time partners, possibly a best friend during the male’s mate-hunting prime? Um, no. Not in my life, anyway. If you don’t understand ponder the existence of blow-up dolls. Anatomically correct blow-up dolls. With names.

But at age 50 there was a life-partner change brought on by the miracle of the Right Person (RP) finally entering a location close enough to appear on my radar. With the excellent hindsight of 74 years, she originally entered as a love interest. She was smart, secure, independent and could care less about my problems, she had her own. As age helped the romantic fire flame out, there was enough in the embers to make staying together worthwhile and we were BFs (and occasionally more) for over 20 years, longer than anyone else. Male or female. BF or not.

And then she left.  

But now, the BF “hope” at this age is not limited to one half of the population, the potential pool is twice what it was at age 30.  Those who don’t urinate into a stainless steel trough at sporting events can now be considered for the exalted position BF.**** A true benefit of old age, and it comes at just the right time.

A new BF for this time in my life has been found. When you read about my UPer (Unidentified PERson), that is her. She needs to remain nameless. There may be some lingering criminal issues in other states she doesn’t deserve to get mixed-up in. Wonder if she has the same issue? The best thing about a BF is we can keep secrets…from each other. It’s a wonderful thing to have in your life. UPer: Thank you for the time investment, vulnerability, and the possibility of a “ride-or-die” loyalty. Long may we last.

            This post is written for all the males and females, senior males and females, lonely and looking for love. And romance. Look for something else. Look for friendship. Those other things may follow. And this applies to everyone. God really doesn’t care who you love as long as you love someone. Take a closer look at all your current relationships, peripheral acquaintances, and contacts. You might be missing something.

*It happened in 1978. He was a childhood friend and best man at my first wedding. His 24-inch by 24-inch self-portrait of how happy he was with Jesus was done in crayon and folded to letter size for mailing. Every year since the internet I’ve googled the return address. It still does not exist, even on google maps. Why not? And yes, I consider it might have been me he was getting away from, but he was running towards something, not away, so there’s hope for him. After nearly 50 years.

**It is assumed everyone knows the difference between friend and “best” friend? Per AI: “a best friend is usually defined by three main factors: vulnerability, time investment, and a ride-or-die loyalty”. But what does Ai know? It also says “friend” and “best friend” are often “interchangeable”. Nerd.

***Sleepwear, now, every chance I get. No, not pajamas…SLEEPWEAR. Public pajamas.

****There is no additional “F” for forever. Ever.

Another Amusing Thing About Old Age?

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As if physical decline (PD) wasn’t enough by itself, there is mental decline (MD) to worry about as a bonus for living longer. A strange oddity about MD is how does one observe said decline if one is the victim of said decline? Aching knees and joints are positive (WTF! Positive??) indicators of PD both my inner voice (IV) and outer voice (OV) easily recognize and process. Neither IV or OV is happy about it, but knowledge is power, and uncertainty is emotionally crippling. So when it comes to MD who will be the canary in the coalmine, IV or OV? Those two are already debating the issue in internal memos and hints of MD are leaking out through OV. IV has noticed lately, memories recounted by OV are being…embellished. Not outright fabricated stories but as IV searches the files it is finding inconsistencies in the tales OV is passing off as historical fact.

There are several memories (about five) from my past which are important milestones, or “forks in the road” for life as it unfolded. The memories used to be accurate recollections of times when life could have gone either way or at least changed direction. OV has retold those stories for years without inner turmoil or even discussion. The recollections were part of the story line of my life, with each recollection supporting each decision made and subsequent, related actions taken. Each story had its flaws, and its revealing moments where I might not have looked my best, despite persevering, and moving on with life.

But many times, in the last 34 months, as the stories have been recounted for medical professionals, new friends, or old friend wanting to know more, IV has raised its hand and suggested “That ain’t the way it happened.” For example, I’ve always told the story of a young, long-haired, hippy, radical Colgate freshman being escorted out a rural bar at the end of a shotgun. The listener is left free to assume a political or societal issue related to a liberal hippy in rural America. But here is what IV says: it was a drug deal gone bad, and I’d stepped on the toes of a local dealer running his operation out of the establishment in question. IV correctly points out I was a common criminal not a rebellious, anti-war icon. My power as an umpire over OV and IV is questionable, but there is no reason to believe IV wrong, as IV’s version of events paints a negative picture of the hero OV must want me to be.

But the real important issue is two pronged: 1. When did the story change? All of my internal voices knew the exact truth in November 1970, so when—and how—did the story change? And 2. How many of those “very important” memories have been infected with the “Need To Make It Better Virus? (NTBV). And is there a cure for NTBV and its possible variants?

My first hope is OV, IV and me are normal issues and the upgrading (upselling?) of memories is a normal function suffered by all who age gracefully. In other words, my extremely agile mind-group has found a way to get me to believe I’m not only normal, but also special for noticing it.

And I am heroic, as well, for talking about it in this open space.

Okay. To summarize…I may have some personality issues needing therapy and it is not heroic to note that, it is good, common sense.

But what if all of this is woke mumbo jumbo. What if IV is wrong? What if OV HAS been right all these years? What if…

All I know, now, is I wish God made easier signposts for MD. We need them.

Not Again…

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Its hard to not think about death when you are an old person. Death’s proximity is the main problem, not fear. It’s like having a root canal on your calendar and you can’t reschedule. (Apologies to all Dentists. You do good and necessary work. You’d all be Gods if you could make the work painless. * Hm. Dentist playing cards?)

The problem lately, is in the structure of the human being. The history of psychological understanding is complex and often controversial with Ids, Egos, Super Egos, and the two-faced beings of Aristophanes’ Myth of origins. Brighter, larger minds will eventually sort it all out but on a personal level I recognize three parts of human existence, at least my human existence. There is an Inner Voice (IV), an Outer Voice (OV) and The Body (TB). These components are slightly in tune with conventional Freudian and Transactional Analysis concepts, but I’ll take credit for making it easier to understand. My IV is the quiet, mercurial voice, sometimes reasonable but often impulsive and self-destructive. “Eat that last doughnut.” The OV is the rational face presented to the world after much consultation, debate, argument and bargaining with the IV. “But someone else may want that doughnut.” TB is just a handsome structure supporting us all and does whatever it’s told, often with a slight, painful delay. (See the tennis story from last March where OV instructions to TB were overridden with disastrous results by IV.) It’s important to note IV and OV are flexible, devil’s advocate-types and often take positions opposite each other apparently just for the fun of it.

The problem, now, is death used to be an afterthought for OV and opportunity for IV to take OV down a peg when things were going too well ** for the entirety of US. When cancer was beaten and TB and OV celebrated, IV was the voice in the background saying “So what? You’re going to die, anyway.” And when recovery from surgery was OV and TB’s main focus, IV tried hard to remind all “you’ll never be as good as you were at age 30.”

But now, death has become OV’s subject of conversation. Again, it may be proximity, or it may be because of the nursing home visits these last few weeks. Notably, those visits deposited death into daily conversations and OV had no choice but to participate. When I returned home from visits, TB sat quietly as OV wondered how long it would be before we all, three, would be living in such facilities. It was IV, then, who suggested we think better thoughts like dying quietly in our sleep. It makes me feel sorry for TB. It’s doing the best it can but more time and telomeres *** have been lost to the past than are left for the future. It comes down to simple math and TB doesn’t do equations.

But OV and IV do, and its hard to escape the constant, internal bickering, especially when the environment is added to the mix. Bright, sunny, beautiful fall days allow IV to tell OV to “shut the f^&#” up when death enters the conversation. Then, on rainy, cloudy, cold days OV lords it over IV with a smirk. For the record, TB never says a word. It lets its nerves do the talking.

It’s a wonder any of us worry about death. Ai estimates over 100 BILLION people have died over the course of history. Ai even says 173,000 die each day. Me and my components will join them, as will you.

Alred E. Neuman *** used to say: “What, me worry?” Honestly, there’s nothing like truth from the mouth of a fictional character to help manage our endings.

*And cheaper.

** Lost time trying to remember good and well rules. Is this one correct?

*** Do I need to point out you should google things you may not know about, anymore?

It’s Been A Bad Year…Thanks, Mr. Wright!

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2025 has not been kind. Yet. It might be though, right? Eventually?

It began well with a great lead in from December: hip replacement surgery ended years of pain, cancer is in remission, and AMD is stopped in its tracks. Great end to 2024 and lead in to “The Next Year.”

Hip recovery went swimmingly but New York’s 2025 weather prohibited a normal “scale-up” of activities. Venturing into winter weather with a new hip was compounded by the worst winter weather in upstate NY in 60 years. Outdoor recreational mobility/recovery was DENIED, even as the maintenance gurus of the apartment complex–the salters, shovelers, skid-steer operators who, bless their hearts—did yeoman’s work scraping out a few minutes a day for safe walking. What exactly is a “yeoman”? Be right back.

Yeoman: “a man holding and cultivating a small, landed, estate” among other things listed in the Oxford Dictionary.  Lots more, too.

Shortened story: stuck inside for months with a good hip and nowhere to go. But I did find an antidote to the malaise 2025 is intent on dropping me into: The wise words of Dr. Steven Wright. (I awarded him an honorary degree.) Dr. Wright told me through the printed collection of his sayings “Depression is merely anger without enthusiasm.”

Hm.

Then Trump took office. I made a new year’s resolution not to write about him, but he does so much…how did he get elected? Maybe, per the good doc, “The early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese”.  Think about it…

Dr. Wright: “Half the people you know are below average.” What? And an explanation: “82.47% of statistics are made up on the spot.” A concisely contemporary, pure propagation of punditry.

It’s concerning to me that our current political shenanigans don’t make me laugh, anymore. There must have been a very sad, recent shift in my attitude towards our political class. Un-humorous worry is a constant companion. Dr. Wright, help please?

““My mechanic told me, “I can’t repair you brakes so I made your horn louder.”” Note: Double quotation marks are grammatical, not ironic.

Perfect.

As a sidebar, he reminded me: “The problem with the gene pool is that there is no lifeguard.”

Dr. Wright also helped me understand most of our current politicians, and how they can live with themselves: “A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory.”

And for all of loyal, fanatical, know—it—all online Demoncrats and Repugnicans, “A conclusion is the place where you got tired of thinking.”

No more politics. Back to me. New advice?

“The sooner you fall behind, the more time you have to catch up”, he offers.

Okay. I’m better. You?

Remember this, too, “Eagles may soar, but weasels don’t get sucked into jet engines.”

And if any of this did not make your day better, here’s consolation in Dr. Wright’s words: “If at first you don’t succeed, destroy all evidence you tried.”

Full disclosure: Steven Wright is not really a doctor, but he should play one on TV.

Next posting we will attempt to answer the age-old Wright question: “What is the speed of dark?”

Contributions and comments welcomed.