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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.

For The Childish, The Young At Heart, And Anyone Who Wants To Be

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I’ve written about Seasonal Affective Disorder(SAD) before and it’s time to mention it again. I call it SAD because that what it is, but when it tried to grab me recently, tools to combat its kidnapping attempt were readily at hand. One tool is childishness, also known as silliness, which is not to be confused with The Ministry of Silly Walks, though if SAD keeps happening, we might need to mount an appropriate Federal response.

SAD likes to come at night and park itself between the ears before you are awake enough, to recognize its infestation and open the toll box. So it was last night, but I was on to it early. My second-floor wall of windows lets me see the world from above and as the snow fell and covered everything, the first thought was how lucky I was to face the parking lot. Other times in the year the direction I faced was irrelevant. But when it snows, I am blessed to see the beauty of the snowfall, the silent throttling of all negativity, the carpeting of the dirty, dingey world with something pure (at night only!), white, and Godlike. (Apologies for calling it God’s dandruff, in an earlier afternoon post.) From high on the…from my window then the world goes quiet, beautiful, serene…you could hear a pin drop on the soft, snowy cushions*

Then the machines come. Big, ornery machines, throwing the snow aside as if angry for the snow’s hubris. The machine march begins with one large, Transformer-like, crab-walking, black exhaust spewing noisy mother-, sorry, big freaking thing. It makes mighty sweeps through the parking lot grid as if it were PacMan high on a Power Pellet. Then, the smaller worker bees, the fine-tuners come out and scurry around the grid, snipping, here, cutting here, and leaving piles of used, white fabric in the main grid for PacMan. As if divinely designed, Pacman takes all the snow off stage left to a pile I can imagine is snow heaven. Or snow purgatory? Probably just a big pile, but you get the drift.**

As if that wasn’t enough entertainment, these little black stick figures began to move about. Most were unrecognizable with coverings of enormous bulbous-ness and fluffiness, but there was a figure in shorts. His appearance was brief. Most walked with high strides, as if practicing for Monty Python. They all walked towards mounds of snow from which lights shown, as if someone had a remote starter for their cars and they had, oh, yes, exactly like that.

Tai Chi*** has a movement called “Stroking The Birds Tail”. Every one of the stick figuers must be a Tai Chi master cause they also used “Moving The Clouds Away”, and finally, “Lotus Flower”. No one did “White Crane Spreads Its Wings”, but my neighbors’ knowledge of ancient Chinese movements was not only impressive, but surprising.

What was I talking about, again? Oh, yeah, being SAD. The malady had not completely been expelled until this thought: I can’t wait to tell “unnamed person” (UPER) about this. She (hint) will love it.” In other words, a fun time was made better by knowing there was someone to share it with, someone who would actually listen. UPER is a “high S with some I” personality so I knew when she heard the story there’d be no roll of the eyes, no wonder about what might be wrong with this person, this me, babbling on about snow. I had faith.

Fun, friendship, and Faith…was that the point of today’s post?

Oh, right SAD. Let’s not waste anymore time on that stupid subject.

*Apologies for really mangling that metaphor. Pin? Snowy cushions?

**I am so proud of that pun. Wait, how many knew it was a pun?

The Holy Font Wars

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Font, font, font. Said three times really fast it sounds geeky, like a bad cheese. Aged Extra Sharp Font. To font or not to font. I do not know what font WordPress uses when this is published, but I have historically written in Times New Roman (TNR), a carryover from journalism days. In fact, I never really thought of font unless someone required a certain font. If they did, I selected it from the 1,837,312* font types available in Word and other processing apps.

But I always returned to the old “eye-shade and ink-stained sleeves” newspaper roots and wrote in TNR. TNR was invented 93 years ago by a typographer for the British “The Times” newspaper. He complained about the readability of the paper, which was using Times Roman font, now known as Times Old Roman. TNR was a huge success and became the global standard for books and legal documents. It was Microsoft Word’s default font until 2007, when Calibri replaced it. Being stubborn and superstitious, TNR was moved into my personal word processing default position, and no other font was used on purpose. (There was a time when testing word processors in the 70s and 80s when the installed font was never even known, or font selection was limited, which didn’t matter as long as it was readable.)

Fonts were never a big deal, though sometimes size mattered. I remember playing around with myriad and varied fonts sizes, years ago, when a certain page count was required and discovered certain fonts take up more space than others, making filling a page easier. But generally, fonts are so inconsequential I called TNR “New Times Roman” for most of this post until editing, when I noticed the New and Old Times Roman boo-boos.** It didn’t take long to fix, but it made me wonder if this inconsequential post should be continued.

Wait, it’s point is coming back to me.

The Biden administration, in its push to help the disabled and generally disadvantaged among us, mandated Calibri for all administration paperwork in 2023. The administration cited three reasons for the change:

  1. Calibri readability is better because it is “sans-serif”. It has no “feet” or decorative flourishes. Ai it.
  2. TNR was designed for paper newsprint, while Calibri was designed for digital computer screens.
  3. The cleaner lines of “sans serif” Calibri worked better with modern Optical Character Recognition software.

Those are some very good reasons for a simple, unobtrusive change, right?

Before writing this post, I typed two sentences, one on top of the other, one in TNR, and one in Calibri. The difference is astounding,*** especially to 73-year-old eyes using 1.75 magnification “reading glasses” just to see the desk. I am now a fan of fonts, and this post is Great British TNR free, and 100% pure Microsoft Calibri.

Can anyone understand why the Trump people recently decided to go back to TNR? They had these reasons:

  1. Restoring “Decorum and Professionalism.” TNR conveys a more “formal and professional” tone. Oh, and tradition. “Make American Type Flourishy Again.” Irony? Tone-deafness?
  2. Opposition to DEI. Trump people declared the move to Calibri a “wasteful program linked to DEI.” God forbid.
  3. Unified Identity. The change (back to TNR) aligns with President Trumps’ “One Voice For America’s Foreign Relations” Directive. Thank God?

You probably know how I feel about each font but Lucas de Groot, the Dutch inventor of Calibri, opines the return to TNR is “sad and hilarious” at the same time. Well said, and who cares about poor people with bad eyes. And switching back to TNR won’t cost a cent.

All players in this mega-important official United States policy issue should be thanked for opening my eyes to better writing and reading. (Get it?)

And the things you guys make me learn. Amen.

*Do I have to tell you that is an exaggeration? Hyperbole? Untruth? Whatever else you do, do NOT do a deep dive into fonts with Ai. Do do.

**That was a good time for Ai to be of service. Slacker.

***Try it yourself.

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?

Things Learned In Old Age, Accidentally

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The faster drivers in my area are females. Since I committed to a 1.4 Litre engine to prevent NASCARRING (sic)*, most of the cars passing my new, used car as we putter along 10 miles over the speed limit are being driven by females. Is it sexist to think they were always careful, law-abiding drivers? Or did I only know careful, law-abiding females in my youth? Back then, this phrase was a constant mantra when driving with a female passenger: “Why are you in such a hurry?” Hm. Maybe my ascension to the heights of safe driving simply made me more aware. Or maybe there is less tint on windows these days, and the driver can actually be seen and not assumed. Don’t know and it suddenly became unimportant. I’m a safe driver, now, and anyone of any sex, color, religion, altered state of existence, or sexual preference can pass me without comment or digital salute.

At the first stop light on the four-lane out of Turning Stone resort this morning, there was a Dodge Charger with a rumbling motor in the front right lane and a quiet, but deadly looking Tesla in the front left. The light changed and both took off. I caught them at the next red light, the Dodge still rumbling and the Tesla still had nothing to add. The light changed and off they went, again. Since there wasn’t another light—or a random speed trap—for the next 20 miles, they were soon out of sight and forgotten. My small-block 1.4 liter never saw them again. Are you wondering who won? Also, no idea who or what was driving either. Damn tint. Think either might have been driver-less? Ai is a street racer? Or maybe two girls/women? All that is certain is neither was over 70 years old. There is an inverse relationship between the ability to properly handle horsepower and age, as noted in the first paragraph.

It’s the perfect season for Sports Nuts (SNs). If you are an SN you know what the problem is, and if you aren’t an SN you aren’t going to care but it’s tough to get a good night’s sleep. At an advanced age, proper rest and strategic breaks are important just to get through the daily 12-14 hours of watching sports without doing permanent damage to retinas, corneas, sclera, and pupils, as well as gray matter. The accidental calisthenics are okay unless there is a lot to cheer about in a short time. Again, a break is needed. Add to the mix sodium-laden snacks and the perfect reclining chair, and you may never hear from me again. Note: This is my last year rooting for the Yankees. The Mets have no expectations. Please, Yankees, just win one championship in my Medicare Years? **

My fitness center group is, uh, dwindling. One is out with a broken hip, another is out for spousal reasons, others are absent and I was nearly alone during this morning’s workout. It is similar to every time I made a new best friend in the past who then either moved away or died. It’s taken years to “therapy out” it’s not my fault, but if it walks like a duck.

*NASCARRING is when a young or foolish man gets behind the wheel of his car, is in no particular hurry, but still accepts the challenge of getting to the front of traffic. Yes, it gets confusing on major interstates with so much traffic, but that is/was the fun of it. It is also uniquely challenging in urban settings, unless there a lot of school buses.

** Upstate NY and the Buffalo Bills Football Team have a unique, doomed relationship. If you aren’t aware of Upstate NYers fervent support of this professional tease of a team, google it. The saying up here—which is tattooed on several Western New York bodies—is “Win One In My Lifetime.” Sad note, the baseball Yankees won a championship in every decade of their existence until the last one, 2010 to 2020. Approximately my years in the senior insurance program mentioned.

Things Learned While Aging

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Young people walk fast. I’ve looked all over Amazon but can’t find any rear-view glasses or personal turn signals to help stay out of their way. If you are in a hurry and someone old is holding you back from getting to your gym workout, there’s no way the person in front knows about the person in back, at least not yet*. As a young person, old people were often in my way or holding me up, making a 5-minute errand take 10 minutes. If I could go back in time…

Most people don’t have a sense of walking traffic patterns. It was more obvious when I was disabled but fellow pedestrians still walk directly at me, cut in front of me, and frequently simply stop in front of me. It’s not clear how much of that is caused by the subject of the preceding paragraph, but this might help readers: stay to the right, pass on the left, and don’t assume you’re the only person walking. The rear-view glasses might help, too, but old people’s brakes aren’t what they used to be, even when the old person can see you**, so think before you suddenly stop walking to do whatever it is you do when you suddenly stop walking. And if you’re walking right at me… why???

Change isn’t just a fact of life, it is personal. Newspapers were a great start to the day for over 50 years. Spread them out, let the open pages catch the toast crumbs, and scan the headlines for interesting news. Turn the page and start over. Spill your tea or coffee? Let the paper automatically clean up the mess. Then use the remainder for bird-cage lining, or package-protecting, or fly-swatting. And what has changed? Try to clip an article from your online “news aggregator” and place it in a scrapbook of your grandchild’s accomplishments. Or swat a fly. No one else has complained about this so it is assumed the demise of The Paper was directed at me. And so many old movies, too, where the father snaps open the morning paper for his coffee and enlightenment…why are these movies in MY streaming services?

Confirmation Bias is a real thing. Oxford Dictionary: “the tendency to interpret new evidence as confirmation of one’s existing beliefs. Confirmation Bias sets in and we downgrade any suggestion our views are inaccurate.” As a lifetime contrarian and Devil’s Advocate***, old age has revealed the depths and efforts of existing beliefs to maintain their hold over the public. As a young man the point was to prick and irritate, especially established educational and political systems. Old age has made the process more focused, and getting others to see they may be wrong and others may be right has become an adventure. Gently chiding liberals, however, isn’t really productive. They are so polite they tend to absorb the message and you never know if they get the point or not. Conservatives have developed over time to be less inclined for spirited debate but super eager to label and name-call****. In the past they used to be great debaters and often friends, back in the day when they didn’t feel victimized and shunned.  Consequently, straddling the fence has become painful on the crotch area instead of invigorating to the head area. Important question: can Confirmation Bias become part of a belief system that doesn’t really believe in anything?

Modern product packaging is being designed by younger and younger people. Babies, even. My most recent trial is cooking instructions for pre-cooked breakfast sausage. First, they include every known method of preparation for eating except for an air fryer, which is my choice for cooking anything. The instructions for all those other devices are written in Spanish as well as English, which puts so much writing on the package it needs to be small. You know what that means. And they use red lettering on a black background. Modern packaging has forced me to carry not only reading glasses, but a magnifying glass, as well. And find a bright light source.

One last small one: because our metabolism slows as we age, tracking food intake is a good idea. So when I eat three small pork sausages, the nutrition label states: “70 calories per 28 grams.” If you understand the problem, you are at least halfway to being an old person.

The rest of you will find out later. If you’re lucky.

*Inventors? Please?

**We’re usually looking down, for obvious reasons.

***Ai it.

****Demoncrat. Libtard. Libs have almost caught up in the name calling, though.

Things Seen and Heard By Older Eyes and Ears

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I heard—and saw in black and white–The Lone Ranger say this during an original Lone Ranger episode, recorded sometime between 1949 and 1957: “Any public official who abuses the public trust for personal gain is worse than any common criminal.” It was Saturday morning and I had tuned to my free over-the-air channels to get away from constant cable news about current public officials reaping Billions of dollars of benefits in the first 8 months of our new Administration. Ironically, it was the episode where The Lone Ranger and Tonto thwart a bank robbery, save the bank’s money, and return it.  Let’s make America great, again.

Interesting side bar: the Lone Ranger was filmed in color in the years 1956 and 1957 but had to be broadcast in black and white because…wait…very few viewers had a color television. The OG days?

All of the early western heroes had a “Moral Code”. Jim Hardy, the handsome, quick-drawing Wells Fargo Special Agent of “Tales of Wells Fargo” was constantly offered a split of the money he recovered from robbers. He never took a cent. He also had to investigate gun smuggling on the Texas-Mexican border. In 1897. Hope he is still getting royalties from his acting.

It’s becoming clear the differences in our modern political parties. You may not know it but Abraham Lincoln was a Republican. The Democratic Party at the time was split by pro-slavery and anti-slavery factions.

History needs more attention. Think no one trusts government, now? Look into the history of the 18th Amendment, the one banning sales of alcohol. No level of governmental trust could ever be lower than what happened after the 18th was passed. Nearly everyone looked for ways to obtain booze, usually by breaking the laws related to the Amendment. The subsequent years of illegal adventures are credited with elevating Organized Crime to new national and international pandemics. Payoffs, bribery, corruption…we really needed a DOGE back then.

Stop wasting valuable time on social wars, first amendment issues, and trying to debate each other, these days. We should be watching the billions of dollars(cryptos and greenbacks) of activity surrounding our new administration, his family, Tech CEOs, and wannabe richies. It’s become obvious our political system is now the Democrats, and the Richies. Current Republicans are not just okay with The Richies but want to be just like them. The Democrats might be envious, but they are the only hope for the moment, of stemming the high tide of money flowing to the top of our society, and world. Soon, laws, facts, elections none of them will matter. Just money.

In watching the history of the United States and remembering my own exposure to it the turbulent 60’s ands 70’s, one can become complacent with how resilient American Democracy is, and think everything will work out. It still might but the mess the 18th amendment caused led to The Great Depression, and we may have not ever recovered from that if it hadn’t been for World War II. The German and Japanese Empires united Americans, and we all worked together…for about 10 years. Make America Great Again?

We may need an Alien Invasion to fix things.*

Full disclosure: I have A Wells Fargo Credit Card.

*Thanks to “Independence Day”, The Movie, showing us in 1996 the our 2026 future.

Speculation On The Origin Of Man…and Woman

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A fun thing about being old, modestly educated, not being in the early stages of dementia(??), and having enough fingers to type, is one can wonder about things without limits or critics. Language, for example, is so funny. Did I just type we can “wonder about things with no limits”, or “wonder about things, with no limits”? What did you think before the quotes and the comma? It is an example of how imperfect the world is, even with simple phrases.

Imperfection is what makes the world interesting. Couple imperfection with impatience and you’ll write a great novel, or make a great movie, or sing a great song, or kill yourself with mind-altering drugs.

But who wants to make the effort? Who decides if it’s a great anything, anyway? Who? Should that be “whom”? And who/whom ever found out/invented mind-altering drugs? Can you see the first man/woman/person who ate the first mushrooms? If he/she/they had any sense they would have kept it to themselves…for themselves, but word got out.

Picture the primordial planet millions of years ago with ooze, and mud and lightning and storms, and millions of types of crawly, icky little creatures slipping, sliding, and worming about the countryside. One of those ickys was our great, great, great, great, great, great grandparent(s), adding the plural in case the being wasn’t asexual….and hoping there are enough “greats”. Yes, we climbed out of the muck and ooze. Holy Crap, just asked Ai for “the history of living organisms on earth in two paragraphs”.  What a wonderful time to be alive. Ai gave two large paragraphs. Try it yourself, it’s cool.

Ai says life began with an opening line right out of any modern-day, science fiction novel: “Organisms developed on earth through abio-genesis, the process of non-living matter forming life, followed by evolution.” Did you know that? I didn’t but it makes sense, yes? One theory is the lightning shocks “kick-started” life and then evolution, the survival of the fittest, took over. A living bacteria survived longer than a soul-less protozoa? And reproduced better, as well? Gives sex a whole new meaning.

Getting from the very first abio-genesis to Donald Trump as President took over 3.5 billion years. That’s a whole lot of patience and perseverance, and yet, still not enough time to weed out all the imperfections. Survival of the fittest, my ass. Whose fault is it, now?

And who the heck is telling us all this stuff, anyway? Scientists are great, aren’t they? They deal in facts, but facts that can change with new information. Much like a doctor saying you have three months to live….and a new drug comes on the market so you live another 40 years.

It is so confusing. Almost disheartening.

But it’s life.

I’m turning in my science books and only reading romance novels for the rest of my life. Those books make sense out of imperfection and impatience and there are heaving bosoms.

This post got really lost but will not be corrected, amended, or censored. First Amendment!

It’ll be better next time when we explicate the delicate art of cross-stitching.

In a last minute, re-read…what happened to speculation?

OK, speculation: “woman” came from “Whoa, Man”, in cave man times when a pubescent cave man saw a naked cave woman for the fist time.

CORRECTION: Ai says the word “woman” came from the Old English “wifman”. Seriously. Ai it.

Change…Who Needs It…

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In youth, change is not only welcomed but anticipated. Hoped for. Longed for. Can’t wait to get to 16 and drive, 18 and graduate, 21 and drink, meet someone, marry, raise kids, find a job. Slowly getting older is “change” too, but going from 35 years to 45 years was nothing but math, the addition of ten to 35. I admit to feeling smarter and wiser as the yearly number went up, but never was there a desire to stop it, slow it down, or deny it until…

If only…recent years, probably starting around 65, there’s been a desire for time to stop advancing, to at least slow down, let things settle. Don’t make me face something new every year. Don’t let things change. In any of the last ten years if you had offered to make time stop and existence be what it is at that moment be that way forever, I’m your huckleberry. (RIP, Val.)

From a peace of mind consideration, it is pointless to think that way…consciously. But it is the way the mind works subconsciously, below the daily humdrum of existence. The Big Beautiful Brain (BBB) does not want to age–or maybe BBB just doesn’t want us to know we are aging–until there’s nothing we can do about it, anymore. The statement implies maybe there is something we can do about it but—again—it is a falsehood our conniving, gray-mattered BBB uses to make the approaching end more palatable.

Ugh. Why is this mental masturbation happening tonight? These thoughts have been around the frontal lobe of BBB since the dawn of time with rationality leading to the conclusion, since nothing can be done, acceptance is the best practice.

But Sly Stone died recently. Sly and the Family Stone were a companion heartbeat from the 1960s and 70s. When the wonderful world of Youtube was discovered 50 years later, Sly’s music was one of the first “old friends” I looked for, right after Jackson Browne. Sly’s performing exuberance and powerful funkiness struck a chord in a very young man and was added to the cohort of musical heroes like Steppenwolf, The Isley Brothers, Bob Dylan, James Taylor, Jackson, Joanie, Cream, Jimi, Cat Mother and The All-Night News Boys, all of which are still “crankin” on Youtube. Go ahead, look. Monaural sounds played at 11 on a speaker whose dial numbers only went to ten 50 years ago, have been “remastered” and are now beyond stereo when listened to with ear buds so perfect and personal every instrument, “track”, flourish, chords, and comments can pour into the ears at anytime, anyplace.

The point? It’s hard to avoid contemplating life’s changes when music constantly reminds you of how things never stay the same. When listening to Sly and others today, it is the 50-year yesterday that is heard, and the 50-year yesterday life is relived however briefly. Any senior worth his Medicare Card will tell you reminiscing seldom leads to happiness in older people.

Ah, but…is change really that bad? Maybe. If we don’t pay attention to everything, it’s easy to see how we can think the only change in old age is bad change. We see death of friends, medical calamities, loss of vision, loss of vertical jumping ability, pharmaceutical protocols never imagined, skin texture changes, urination increases…

Okay. Took a break after trying to list bad changes in older life. It got depressing so I found Sly’s “Dance To The Music” on Youtube and listened at full volume without bothering my neighbors. Gosh, I love modern music delivery…a welcome, blessed change from the 70s.

Maybe change isn’t so bad…

(10 minutes later, after “Every Day People”) We have to embrace change and wonder at it since we really have no choice. If we rein in our rambunctious BBBs, we should be able to convince ourselves we will be able to listen to Sly and The Family Stone live, in heaven, if things go well.