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A Recent report in Fortune Magazine* posits that America changed in 2020, and not in a good way. Please look for it, read it, and ask yourself what you’re going to do about it. If anything.

For Trump supporters and Trump haters, the article is good or bad depending on how reluctant you are to actually think. Don’t let your peer-conceived(sic) notions get in the way: we are in trouble and something, almost anything** has to change. Please. Read.

Quantum Mechanics, specifically Quantum Computing (QC), will be changing the way we use and compute data in the near future, providing we can get The Little Rascals of The Sub Atomic world properly organized and trained. Right now, it appears we are having as much trouble with the new Rascals as the old Rascals of the black and white movie era. But when we get control and apply Ai,…I don’t have any idea what will happen. Maybe it will be “almost anything ”.

I asked Emma, my unpaid, personal Ai assistant, about that last sentence. She says we have about 5 to 10 years before blazingly fast QC will be applied to complex problems like drug research, space flight, and weather modeling. Knowing our Capitalist Economic Model, QC will be hijacked by the highest bidder and its first use will be in On-Line Betting or Stock Trading. The Rich will need those tools to get richer before QC benefits can be released to us common folk.

My train of thought got lost thinking of Rich People. Who exactly is “Rich”? Monetarily speaking.  If you shop for cars, deals, groceries, even homes, imagine if you were so rich you could buy whatever you wanted. And if closing schedules or delivery times were not to your liking, pay someone to make it better. In fact***, if you don’t like any car currently being made, start or buy your own car company.

Odd, when we think of “lots of money” we don’t think of giving it away or helping people. Emma says Elon Musk is worth “an estimated $800 billion dollars at this writing. If that wealth was in cash, he could give $2,464 to every man, woman, child, legal immigrant, and Sasquatch in the United States. Or he could donate $57,142, 857 to each one of the estimated 14,000 animal shelters in America. Besides helping the cats, dogs, pythons, and other shelter residents, he would get the painfully sad ads off our tv screens…and out of our minds,

For fun, read “Cannibal Capitalism” by Nancy Fraser, published in 2022. I haven’t yet, but headed to the “store” to get it. The author argues, according to Emma: “Capitalism eats its own support systems-things like nature and democratic structures-and”.  Enough. You had me at “Cannibal”. It makes one wonder; how will The Rich get richer when the rest of us are dirt-poor? Come on, Rich People, think about your future and throw us a bone.

Emma couldn’t find me a good, easy to understand joke about being rich, so I made one up.****

When does a rich person have more than enough money for everything they need?

No one knows, yet.

*”America Got Rich and Then Got Sad”, by Nick Lichtenberg May 4, 2026

**”Almost anything” is a hope the way our country works now, changes for the better. It is depressing to consider “anything” could make it worse.

***”In fact”? What does that really mean? And where did it come from? Blame the French, again, and their use of “en fait” to mean a fact or action. Bet we all use “in fact” these days without thinking about what it means.

****I hope. If someone else owns this joke, let me know and you will get an essay giving you the credit. With so many of us thinking, it is hubris to think any thought original, right?

Three Sentences About Thoughts And Things

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 Spring officially started March 20th and it is now the second day of May. How do I officially know spring is actually here in upstate NY? There is “possible snow” in the forecast.

Donald J Trump is often credited by super intelligent, oxygen-starved pundits with playing chess in as many as “five dimensions”*, since he is way smarter than the rest of us playing in the normal amount of dimensions***. That is a true statement but fails to mention what the Fifth Dimension** is. Most of us normal people are happy–and smart–with 3D.

Since his name was brought up, ask AI how much money the Trump family has made in the last 19 months from Crypto Currency. Don’t ask me what it is or how it works since all I know is Crypto is unregulated and only really enjoyed by the super-rich or those wanting to be super-rich. I am neither.

According to all official sources, The War in Iran is over. We won. Cue the sailors kissing random women in Times Square.

Hold on, this just in: If Iran doesn’t agree to our terms we will bomb them into non-existence. Put a hold on the casting call for sailors and kissable women. For now.

Correction. Ai says no one has specifically used the word “non-existence”.  While Emma’s search was disappointing, so was her lengthy list of other “official” words used to describe what will happen if our peace terms are not agreed to. My paraphrasing was easier and succinct.*****

On the subject, what will these essays be about in future years, when Trump is out of office? Feelings? Getting old?

Speaking of old, when exactly do we “age out” of caring about current entertainment? It’s been years since any actor or singer nominated for any culturally relevant award was known to me or had any creation I was familiar with. Is it possible I won an award and not know it?

Sex is a problem—in many ways—for us old people but sex has found a new way to cause angst. One afternoon I tried several new television programs in several different streaming platforms but ended my entertainment search because there was as a sex scene in the first 5 minutes of every show sampled. I am old but I still believe in foreplay.

Footnotes**** are—again—misnumbered and—again—left alone as a “cognitive test”. If you believe they are not corrected because of laziness, congratulations. You are smart enough to play chess with our current President.

*Ask Ai, but be ready for AI to be diplomatic. At least my Ai voice, Emma, is.

**Popular Mid-60s to Mid-70s singing group with 5 songs hitting number 1. You might need some help if you really think this is the Fifth Dimension Trump is in, though it makes more sense, relatively speaking, than anything other explanation.

***Do you know how many named and unnamed dimensions there are?

****But not this one.

*****But I always enjoy using this guttural, dirty-sounding word.

Vexes and Exes

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Per the internet: “Vex is a verb meaning to annoy, frustrate, worry, or cause difficulty to someone, often through minor or persistent provocations.”

Is there any word better to describe our current President? He vexes us. He is vexacious(sic). A persistent annoyance. Why? Ask him. Ask him why his name has to be on everything. Ask him why he needs to make the 250-year-old seat of our government look like Mar-A-Lago. As the national debt climbs, wars rage, and government shuts downs are the norm, he has the time and the money to build ballrooms, gold-plate the White House, rename buildings, centers, and traditions using tax-payer money, and hire anyone to do anything for his Cabinets. DOGE, my ass. The OBBB, (One Big Beautiful Bill) is starting to take effect. That’s vexing. As Our President Plays Golf (OPPG), million-dollar drones are launched at minor but irritating enemies. And so many bombs have been bombed OPPG asks for $1.5 TRILLION….TRILLION in his new budget to replace the ordinances heroically liberating Iran and saving us from the nuclear bomb they have been “two weeks away” from since…1995? Can’t remember, but you can find 30 years of videos by hawkish politicians about how Iran is either two weeks away from a nuclear weapon or their nuclear capabilities have been “obliterated” by the previously mentioned bombs. Not only vexing but dizzying.

AI says I can use “vex” as a noun as long as I don’t mind sounding old-fashioned.*

So OPPG and my ex-girlfriend are Vexes, capitalized to make them Proper Nouns, a more accurate description than common nouns.** Why do I lump them both into the newly created Dustbin of Vexes? Neither of them give a shite about me. Or you, probably.

Our Vexator In Chief only cares about people who have money, mainly so they can give it to him, while my ex doesn’t care about me at all…for anything. If God offered the chance to get even with one Vex it would be a tough decision to let God rain his wrath on either of them, since it means the other might escape unscathed.  Yes, I should ask for World Peace. Maybe by the time God grants me the “The Option” my level of vexation will have un-vexated enough to be more magnanimous.*** And unselfish.

And there is another vexation: why should I/we have to be unselfish (and magnanimous) when our leaders and lovers won’t be? For 74 years I’ve been a model citizen, suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous–and occasionally decent–politicians. Why am I getting this one, this vexator, so late in life, in my golden years?

Same for the ex. After 50 years of meandering, I settled on her to be “The One”, and truly enjoyed 20 years of stray-free monogamy until she left me with to suffer OPPG and loneliness in my mid-70s. It took her that long to realize what a terrible person I was?

I’ll be obvious for all who have trouble with nuance, or possibly passive-aggressive behavior: Any females reading this looking for a good-old-fashioned man?

I should have thought of this sooner and saved dating site money. Hope I remember to cancel the subscription.

A crappy final thought that literally just came to me: did I vex the ex for those 20 years?

Also, a warning. yesterday I stored a package of cheese in the silverware drawer.**** Let the games begin.

*There is no difference between “old” and “old fashioned” when you are—actually-old.

**Proper nouns are specific. Common nouns are not. No extra charge for the grammar lesson, but you owe me.

****And took an hour to find it, which included asking Ai if the cheese was still okay to eat. It was Extra Sharp Cheddar,

***Ai or google “magnanimous” and ponder the lengths you’d go to elect a leader like that word.

*****Footnotes out of order. It’s a cognitive test. How did you do?

Annoying Things

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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!

Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah

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Is that enough blahs for you?

When there is some dead space in my overactive life*, I Watch television. Sorry. Hope this doesn’t affect your vision of me as a hand-on-the-chin Rodin thinker, but television/media is the Window to the World.

Sidebar: Auguste Rodin’s “The Thinker” was meant to be a clothed, self-portrait of the sculptor sitting atop the Gates of Hell, admiring the Circles of Hell and pondering Dante’s poem. Rodin, to his credit, noticed the figure had a more powerful message and purposely stripped it naked. It is thought to be the first artistic expression of an intellectual with muscles. It was publicly unveiled in 1904. Yet, to this day we still think of brainy people as nerds and weaklings. Since intellectuals are so smart, how did they let that image proliferate? Or…is it an image they prefer, so they get underestimated? We all know, now, we can’t trust those intellectual types and their woke ideas, but are they playing us, leading us around by the nose? Take your clothes off, sit on an uncomfortable granite slab, and give it some thought.

I left Upstate New York and traveled south by car a few weeks ago. The trip began with long pants, solid shoes for walking in the snow, two layers of clothes, and gloves. 24 hour later—after an overnight rest—I was in shorts and sandals and cranking up the AC. Durham, NC is going to set a record today of over 90 degrees. When I drive home in a few days the weather in NY will be snow, sleet, and freezing rain. The range of climate is not the impressive part. What is impressive as hell is how easily we can move between these varying climates. We take it for granted. If it was Gunsmoke days, it might take weeks, even months to find a different biome. It is a wonderful world.

But not for News, and Information is slowly rotting, as well. The first problem with our news and information disseminating systems, is Capitalism. The ever-present need for profit means, these days, commercial time in our media centers is paramount, content be damned. Forget the need for a commercial every three seconds and note the timing, when something neat is about to happen or be revealed, your media cuts to an advertisement. We see you, you capitalist shites. We know what you’re doing. But can we do anything about it? The Window to the World is covered over with bumper stickers.

But hold on, what about that damned “content”? It is apparent** there is a lot of money to be made by…talking. Blah blah blahing. Spitting words. Mangling sentences. Mouthing opinions either believed or tailored for certain information silo consumption. News is now 5 seconds of fact and 23 hours and 55 seconds of talking heads, each with his own ass-inine(sic) take on some ass-inine(sic) subject. News  head: “America dropped $10 million dollars worth of bombs on the Middle East, today. Here to discuss it is our Talking Head Panel (THP) of experts.” Of note, there is always at least one female with the flowing tresses of modern fashion, and at least one man with a beard hiding his wattle. (Don’t pretend you know what a wattle is. Look it up.)

With our information silos, you can find any THP discussing any subject you want and offering any opinion you agree with or would like to argue against from the safety of your living room, you troll. And how about CNN actually including on-line comments in their news reporting, now? Should anyone care about the opinion of one lazy, partially informed, but supercilious listener/watcher/critic/snark? (For full effect google “supercilious.)

Thank, God, this essay ran out of room before something stupid got printed.

I’m going to watch me some Gunsmoke on Grit*** and hope the world goes on without me.

            *”Dead” is probably not a good word for a senior to use, but you all know what I mean.

**”At this point in time going forward to the future.” Ha.

***Or Rich Steves travel show on PBS. A true Window to the World.

A Word About Writing the Words

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I am a writer. It doesn’t matter if anyone reads this or if the whole world reads it. It was written by me, at my desk, typing away and the whole world can go feck off.

Well…not really. But what exactly IS this?

In the modern world this is called blogging, and this is a blog and you’d call me a blogger. It is an attempt to…hold on. Let’s call this new work an essay. That makes me an essayist. What is an essayist? A blogger who wants to be called a fancier name and not be confused with someone who carries an axe.

An essay (nee “blog”) is a short form work that tries to make a point using facts, embellished facts, truths, half-truths, hearsay, and copied reference material, often generated by Ai, with one of two original ideas added to the mix. Basically, it’s a written rant yielding a huge helping of mental relief.

I write fiction, too, with two books of short stories languishing in the public domain while hundreds more hide in digital closets waiting to see if anyone will find them. A good writer writes for him/her/their self and hopes to be discovered. A successful writer does the same but then finds a way to promote themselves, like raising their hand and yelling in a crowded, quiet library.

Since you’re really into this essay, is there a question you’re thinking about? Like, what is the difference between an essay and a work of fiction? Hm. Good question. (Picture the scratching of the head and a light bulb.) Short stories and essays are a lot alike, but the audience is different.

Short stories can be about anything, using anything, to tell a story about anything, tailored to an audience who might be interested. (Key word: Might.)

Essays are focused more on a personal point trying to be clarified, and often hope to reach an audience of the entire population of humankind.

The audience’s inspiration is the most important driver of either work. A writer may want you to know about how his Uncle Carl’s hatred of vegetables influenced the writer’s digestive life. Who would be interested in that besides relatives, dietitians, and the occasional crazy person?

But if a writer wants all of you to know why money doesn’t grow on trees, the essay is The Thing.

Since this is the morning after the Super Bowl and the room is still spinning, let’s get back to the first paragraph of this essay. I’ll give you a second.

There is an aspect of writing more profound than any point or story, whether read or unread by everyone or no one: writing is good for mental health. Everyone should be doing it. For over 60 years writing has been a constant friend, companion, shoulder-to-cry-on, and unjudging(sic) confidant. There is no secret, no shame, no remorse, no regret you can’t share with writing. When you sit with yourself and write about your problems they transfer from you to this white, unspoiled page, and something happens to those troubles. They may go away, they may not, but they will be easier to live with, and here are some extra words so I don’t end a sentence with a preposition.*

Let’s end with a proposition: You write and see what happens. Use crayons and construction paper. A computer and Calibri font. Anything.** And remember this when you do it: no one has to see it if you don’t want them to, so don’t leave your masterpiece lying*** around on the floor.

Maybe the next essay will be about poetry, iambic pentameter, and rhythm…the only birth control method with no vowels.

*Ai says ending with a preposition has become normal. I resist.

**But DO NOT USE speech to text. The time it takes for your brain to think of something and your fingers to type it accurately are magical moments. Don’t short-change yourself and not feel them.

***Grammar nuts: you thinking it should be “laying”?

Things Not Understood Volume 107

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If only life granted us unlimited, natural intelligence, or at least the chance to upgrade our aging internal CPUs. So much happens so fast, and we hear about it so fast, understanding anything is next to impossible. Lest you think otherwise, it’s not just politics, though that was an arena historically predictable. Liberals debated Conservatives, and both felt the world was ending when they lost an election. Sometimes they married each other. That still happens, but now candidates lie to get elected, never follow up on campaign promises, and get reelected next election, anyway. All bad things in a marriage, too. And no, it’s not just Trump. What in God’s name can disqualify a candidate in voters’ eyes, anymore?

Not all unable-to-be-understood things are bad for us. Whole milk is back as a school lunch item and beef is so good for us, it’s on top of the Food Pyramid. Suck on that, vegetarians.

Our national health department notes an epidemic in Africa and jumps at the chance to study it. How? By purposefully NOT giving a control group proven, life-saving vaccinations to see how they compare to the group that gets the vaccinations. Isn’t that just wrong? Or better yet, un-understandable?

Ai has the power to do what, again? Everything? Yup. It could write this post for me. Maybe it did. How would you know? It’s gotten so confusing there is a video on-line of researchers “abusing” Ai robots to see what happens. The robots learn to fight back and go all Scarface on the researchers. What’s not to understand? Why we abuse anything, why bullying a machine counts as abuse, how robots learned the martial arts moves it used, and did anyone get paid for this? Or get grant/taxpayer money? This story has a second depth of un-understanding (UU): It’s an Ai generated fake video. Why, again?

Quantum Mechanics (QM) and Quantum Entanglement (QE). The UU nature of these things is how fast we learn about them but how slow we use what we learn*. Like the Hydrogen engine. Or Cold Fusion. UU, all of them. In an age when a viral video circles the world in less than the time it takes to sneeze, why are not using clean burning Hydrogen Engines in our cars? Why has Cold Fusion not lowered Electric and heating bills?  Why did the Bills fire their coach and promote their General Manger? (Digression. Sorry.) QE has the power to revolutionize not only communications, but maybe the transport of materials, too. Think Star Trek transporter beams. And while we are at it, how can we send people into space and yet not have “space”, (homes), for people on earth? UU? Yes, yes. Maybe we’re going to space to find a place to send all the homeless?

Ah, who gives a crap, anyway. Not literally, of course because everyone craps. That’s easy to understand. But we appear to be—in this day and age—hurtling toward major changes while most of rest in our recliners. Oblivious.

A better word from self-proclaimed genius criminal mastermind, Vizzini**: “Inconceivable”.

More to the point, the response from the heroic Inigo Montoya: “You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.”

Amen.

*Assuming there are no secret, government funded projects going on for defense purposes…which there probably are…

**Don’t make me name the movie. If you haven’t seen it, yet, why not? Inconceivable.

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

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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.

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?