family

Ruminations…Again

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If God is so smart and loves us so much, why did He make it so easy to gain weight and so hard to lose it? I’ve personally studied this phenomenon for years and sense an earthly conspiracy that may have corrupted God’s initial plans. All will be revealed, soon.

And we won’t mention teeth, but wasn’t titanium around when He designed the mouth?

The Republican Party should now be required to calculate and reveal how much the now 10-year search for voter fraud has cost American Taxpayers. Recent news reports say Trump and others have “hired” and then “fired” several private companies to review elections in several states, counties, and municipalities and expose fraud. Several Federal Agencies have been involved, too. Anyone seen any Fox News Reports?

Maybe Trump paid for the investigations, himself? If you are a donor to Republican Party PACS, you might want to see how your donations are being used given the results.

A lesson in hope was delivered to me, this week, and it was accepted. My car’s “Check Engine” light came on and the thought of a $1500 repair bill immediately joined it. But the nice people at my local auto parts store suggested it might not be an entire catalytic converter and offered  a bottled compound cleaner that may work well enough to clean the converter and get a few more months–possibly year–of “Check Engine” light relief. Even if it’s a scam, hoping for a $16 bottle cure is worth the risk. Sleep will be easy for the next few days as the cleaner runs it course. Either it works or more sleep will be lost later, stay tuned. BTW: Conspiracy? Extended warranty companies will NOT cover converter repair or replacement. Hm.

Give blood. It is one of easiest and most rewarding things you can do. Full disclosure, I am a volunteer Red Cross Blood Donation Ambassador and have a vested interest in your donation: saving lives. If you are medically able to donate, you can use an app that tracks your donation from collection to medical use. There’s nothing better than the last stage of your “Blood Journey” where the app not only shows where your blood went, but also this; “You’ve helped save more than one life.”

As a survivor and continuing student of The Calamities of 2023*, and now a regular blood donor, I am an expert on the drawing of blood. It may hurt my plea from the preceding paragraph, but can any big-brained, or mechanically-inclined brain, find an easier way to get the blood out of the body and into the tubes/bags or bottles? My exposed arms suggest multiple, suspicious injections to someone unaware** of the blood collection mechanics. Maybe we need a rating system for phlebotomists? Or some kind of shut-off valve.

I live in an area we can call Trump Country. At a recent public event there were lots of comments begging for a response. No, I did not to all, but to some, in case you’re curious. “I hated Joe Biden” was a frequent comment. I ask the speaker if they’d ever met Biden, but the point was lost when they answered in the negative and looked at me like I’d asked a stupid question.

“It sucks to live in California.” Me: “Have you ever lived there?” Trump supporter: “No.”

And for balance, one supporter said, “Trump is an asshole.” The supporter didn’t elaborate and I did not ask him/her/they the “Biden question”. What would be the point?

The real point is stop believing what you hear without learning more.

And hate never does anyone any good.

*As time passes, it’s become important to note the inception.

**Thankfully, most people are aware but still feel compelled to ask, “Did it hurt?” No, it didn’t, but the questioning is annoying.

Blind Finding the Blinds?

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God, through His subscription streaming service, Life, has interesting ideas about human existence and the years we spend on earth. For our senior years, for example, He has instructed the powers that be at Life to make our last years as challenging as possible. The point is to test us seniors and see which side of The River Styx* we end up on, and how high up in Heaven or how low in Dantes Circles we go. An example of this late-in-life testing is simply getting dressed. All of us remember jumping out of bed, throwing on some clothes. and heading off to work, play or party…when we were young. It might have been ten minutes from awake to turning the ignition key.**

If we tried doing the same thing this late in life, we’d eventually make a call to a close relative or friend to come get us up off the floor. And—because we get stubborn as we age–it would be a lot longer than ten minutes before we surrender all pride and get to a phone, even if we planned ahead and left it near us. Damn socks. Invent slip-ons, like shoes, dammit.

Senior life then becomes a life of leisure and disregard for the world’s major events, but with a close, annoying, aggravating, non-symbiotic relationship surrounding the Activities of Daily Living (ADL***).

As a younger old man****, my patience was lost on nearly every test thrown my way in my new Old Man career, with the resulting invective stream: “Dammit! WTF! Why me? Why now?” You may have read about some of these adventures in very old essays.

But a simple reading of the room—”commonly called paying attention” –revealed while annoying things were happening, they weren’t just happening to me. The pain is cohort-wide.

Now, with understanding and patience firmly tucked into the frontal lobe, I aspired to get replacement blinds for my apartment windows. This was going to be a long story, but the preface appears to have taken up most of today’s available space. The incongruous but—sadly–modern twists and turns of the War for The Mini Blinds will have to be delineated and explicated in a future essay. It’ll tug at your heart strings, whatever the hell they are.

But a warning, here, for anyone who thinks senior life is all napping, streaming, and ranting: It is, mostly, but we do face a life of paper cuts no younger person can imagine or would have the will to endure. We achieve patience by knowing it happens to everyone who gets the privilege of being “Aged”. We view it as a blessing. Ask any senior and they will tell you how happy they are to be so old. Ask, I dare you.

There isn’t much room left for anything but a quick joke. If I’ve told it before, sue me. And if you are offended, good. Its nice to finally get credit for doing something. Of note, my ancestors–and therefore moi–are citizens of the butt of this joke and do not mind you laughing, as long as its with us and not at us. We’ve come a long way as an Ethnic Group and are proud to be part of making someone else’s life a little brighter.

A Polish man locked his keys in his car.

It took him an hour and a half to get his family out.

Tomorrow, we pick on Italians! Another robust branch of the family tree.

*Yes, I know. I am Unitarian Universalist. Deal with it. Think “Literary License” aka “Poetic License”. Qualified immunity.

**We didn’t have push button start in those days.

***Real thing. Google it, especially young people. Best to learn about it, now, and be ready.

****You get that, right?

              What To Do With Old Memories

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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.”

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.

Labor Day Labors, Senior Version

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This isn’t really about any senior issues, but being a senior amplifies these problems everyone of us faces. Hopefully.

First, a complaint about my cohorts and their relationship to idiocy. Possible relationship. As retired seniors, we can do anything we want, anytime, anywhere, as long as it is within our physical and mental capacities. Experience taught me (firsthand and with observation) young people sleep late. Using genetically-gifted logic, I plan to do what I want, anytime I want, when said young people are still asleep, or recovering from the sudden shock of waking up. This planning allows free run of most fitness centers, grocery stores, and other retail or public places. Get in get out, go back to sleep, all before the motorcycles roar, the muffler-deprived cars cough to life, and general silliness ensues simply because there’s more humans moving about, causing chaos. So here is my latest conversation with an old friend about going to lunch. Me: “Let’s meet at 10am when they open.” Friend: “No. I’m not awake that early. Let’s do lunch time.” Me: “Ok. Applebee’s”? Friend: “No, it’s too busy there.” (Insert rimshot* here.) Note: many late-arising friends scoff at early morning activity. Yes, they actually scoff***, as if it is an insult. It’s okay, even fewer people getting in the way.

So I called the local fitness center Sunday since their website says they are “Open” on Monday, Labor Day, but “subject to holiday hours”. My call was during business hours Sunday and was not answered by a human but a “phone tree” offering an option to find out about “Holiday Hours”. After selecting the alleged option, it instructed me to call “the local branch for more information.” To their credit, the local branch called me back seconds later, apologized and listed the hours. Bless them, for they know not what they do. Actually, they did, so we can save Luke23:34 for the next Labor Day misadventure.

My favorite grocery store’s website also listed Monday Labor Day hours as “Open, Subject to Holiday Hours.” A Sunday call to their phone number informs me “There will be signs in the store about Holiday Hours”.  As an effort, that is a good thing but why say it over the phone? Do we drive there, now, to find the Holiday Hours for tomorrow? (Second rimshot.) Oops, being patient and waiting a little longer the phone tree offers “Press Option 2 to hear Holiday Hours for your store.”. Ever the optimist (sarcasm), I pressed 2 and got this: “Call your local store for Holiday Hours that will be displayed on signs in the store.” Let’s not use one rimshot here but give them an entire drum solo. As a coherent finish to this anecdote, in a visit to the store on Monday I looked for signs about “Holiday Hours”. Go ahead, guess. I won’t insult your intelligence.** For real, this time: Luke23:34.

It’s not clear how much of these last two stories was caused by Artificial Intelligence, but we can be sure “Real Intelligence” was AWOL.

*Drum: “Ba-dum-tss”, phonetically. Also called a sting. Google it for fun.

** Apologies if inferring the obvious is also insulting. It’s a holiday: Happy Labor Day!

*** A very powerful word. Look it up.

Three Sentences…Again

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A  new, worst traffic enemy plagued me three times this past week. It is the car (removing all personality from this complaint) whose brake lights come on before the turn signal. New curse words were invented each time.

Streaming services have lost their collective minds as each time I look for a better one, their advertisements tout their “over 100 channel” line up. If someone watches two channels at a time (one for each eye), for one hour at a time, for 10 hours a day, in five days they will have viewed all the channels for which they paid over $100. If either of those two sentences make any sense to you…

My Late-life discovery of ear buds and “you tube” music videos continues to amaze. Every day in July I listened to parts of the April 2025 Madison Square Garden concert of The Brothers, an Allman Brothers legacy spinoff which includes two original members from 1975. Google “In Memory of Elizabeth Reed”, insert buds, recline, and enjoy.

My recent—and last—hip replacement surgery went as planned thanks to the brilliant Dr. Wickline and the exceptionally enjoyable Apex Surgery Center in Westmoreland, NY. The June 18 surgery was more than enjoyable, and almost fun. Makes me wonder what joint to replace in the future.

Local Trump supporters are getting a little antsy. Their “letters to the editor” have increased in volume but not in fact or relevance, and they are using the Trump trick of throwing stuff out to see what sticks. The saddest part of our entire political scene is neither party can see that with the current polarity, strict party affiliation means EVERYTHING “the other party” does is bad, even if it isn’t.

Trump recently posted angry words about a Gayle King. I’ve no idea who she is but I can’t help but wonder why he bashed her. One of the questions I ask Trump supporters is “Would you like Donald Trump to be a member of your own family?

Turning Stone Resort is a 24-hour casino/resort so last Sunday–after my 6 am fitness group–I went to the 24-hour restaurant for a hearty, healthy breakfast. Not much else was open and there were very few people (one of the reasons for going early) until I passed the Smoke Shop. Over 20 people were waiting in line for tobacco products.

The New York Yankees suck. The Yankees suck. The Yankees suck…this year.

It’s hard to know what to eat, these days. As I recover from cancer treatments the best way to build back one part of the body causes havoc with another part. How vitamins, minerals, proteins, iron, water, cherry juice, potassium, and pizza all work together is very confusing.

I purchased glasses on line for a lot less money than my local eye center wanted and the on-line company promised 24-hour customer service. When my order got lost by USPS, however, I was dropped into automated hell dealing with bots and phone trees leading to bots. The Ai future is here.

When will it all end?

What? Football season is here? Thank, God.

Death as an Equation

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Several past posts have been about The D Word, but this post will be more objective, less emotional, almost dry, in discussing the impact of Death.

In youth, there was lots of death (sic). Pets died, farm animals died, insects got squashed, and fish got caught…and eaten. Very few of those deaths were looked at as Death (sic). Insects don’t deserve to live, anyway, and pets, well, pets came and went. Many dogs and cats wandered off the farm never to be seen again. Often, we’d find bones in the farm fields but never made any connection. At least the adults said there wasn’t any. The only emotional loss on the farm was when we shipped a favorite calf or piglet to the slaughterhouse, and as young’uns we didn’t actually knew what it meant at the time.

The facts of life don’t take long to be revealed, however, and around the eighth grade an emotion surfaced in talking about Death. What happened to Uncle Carl was defined as “passing”, per mom. It was her brother and a favorite uncle. He smoked cigarettes from packs rolled up in his tee shirt sleeves, drank, used hair product, and liked to lean on the hood of his convertible. In the 1950s and 60. He visited the farm regularly and called me “Sport”. When he stopped coming, it was weeks before I asked mom. She set me and my brother on the couch and announced “Carl won’t be coming anymore”, and as we kids pondered what we did wrong she added, “He has passed on.”

Death made itself known eventually, and we had some disagreements, but I came to understand and accepted it which was easy since my death was so far away. An early and now long-gone girlfriend said I was a great comfort at funerals. As a big, strong, quiet man woman liked to cry on me, no matter their age.

Now, an approaching Death needs to be an arbitrary factor in equations and discussions about End of Life. Input all known variables and solve for X. The word death meant nothing to the young mind and now means nothing to the old mind. In fact, Death, now, is simply the next event, the next inevitable stage of Life. Some of those were turning 13, turning 16, kissing a girl (thanks Cousin Debbie), buying beer, college, marriage, kids, marriage again, marriage again (Yes, sadly, not a typo), grandkids, and retirement. These were most of the major events looked forward to and anticipated. The first beer, by the way, was so bad, how could anyone drink it?

But beer might help with Death, if you think about it. I love beer, now, so maybe, after death…?

Naw. The equation aspect of death is a result of living. When someone near my age dies, and when someone older than me dies, there are two different equations: How much longer than the former have I lived, and do I have as much time left, as the latter. I’ve mentioned before, the age of Death and how it had to be determined for End of Life Financial Planning. Mine is 84, the age mom died. Dad died at 51, so…

The Death Equation became harder to solve when The Calamities hit. They skewed the values of certain parts of the formula, at one point even suggested a final solution, variables be damned. In sharing my experiences with friends/cohorts in my age group, it seems we all suffer something, eventually, and don’t know what to do about it. Sharing experiences has a warning implied, and several cohorts have learned of a new calamity thanks to the exposing of someone else’s old one. I learned about my new calamity, one I never would have suspected, from the reported trials of a friend in Florida.

Another friend has a better description of the equation: we are all old cars. Any car lover worth his clicking torque wrench knows there comes a time when it doesn’t make any sense to repair an old car. You fix one thing, and something else fails. Just let it go.

A recent afternoon text back and forth with a friend whose PSA is over 4 was about the worst calamity to get in old age. My choice: Cognitive Impairment (CI). Cancer, Arthritis, AMD, none seem as bad as CI. But later, as I thought about all this, I asked myself: what if I had Ci, would I not have Death to think about?

No one knows. Or at least has ever mentioned anything.

Maybe I’ll look up that Psychic I dated in the 70s…as long as she doesn’t mention marriage, again…

An Open Letter to Old Fuddie Duddies, you know who you are…

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As my life has progressed, so has my knowledge and use of modern technology. It doesn’t mean I’m keeping up, just not far behind. You can imagine my surprise when old friends and new friends huff and puff about using new technology. This post will be about modern stuff young people know already, and have probably moved on from, so if you’re tech savvy (any age), don’t read any farther. You’ll be bored.

Computers, laptops and cell phones entered my life in the early 80’s and 90’s and most of my cohorts are reasonably up to a slow speed with them. Reasonably. Many still use checks and check books and balance their accounts every month. I’ve given up arguing, debating, and teaching the merits of on-line banking, bill paying, and account maintenance. It isn’t that the ship has sailed, it never even got out of the dock. If you are my age and wondering what the hell I’m talking about, ask a grandchild. Or someone else’s grandchild. Don’t bother me. Benefits? See your account activity every day, not 30 days later when your statement posts and you sit down with your calculator, check book, and mailed, printed statement. Balancing or reconciling a checkbook, monthly, is an avoidable, self-inflicted torture–by the way–some seem to enjoy…so there is that aspect to consider.

Bonus sidebar: How many of you old couples still use two (or more) checkbooks for one account? A man once told he had three: one for him, one for her, and one for the “house” to keep track. Beside the possible S and M angle (google it), maybe those monthly account balancings (sic) helped keep them together? Again, don’t ask a man thrice divorced and recently dumped.

          In 1960 when kids like you know who wanted to get a local baseball game together, we called a house phone. If someone answered, gold! As long as it wasn’t answered by a teen-aged girl waiting for a certain boy to call. If no one answered, you kept trying. Imagine getting 10 kids together for a game (we only used half the field). I cannot remember when answering machines came out, but I do remember getting my first cell phone in the mid-90’s about 5 years after a good friend got a car phone. Even then most calls still went to a “House Phone”. Car phones didn’t last long but then the cells hit and we all had them. Now calls went to the person holding the phone, still never certain of the message getting through but at least progress. Then, voice mail, group phone calls, etc.

          The next big leap was texting. Most old people are still confused about all the phones can do, but texting should be easy. It is a combination of mailing, calling, emailing and smoke signaling, all of which can be used for effective communication: effortlessly thanking distant relatives, asking out a possible mate, and getting 10 old men together for whatever it is ten old men could do. Not only does the sender get control of the message (I sent it to you hours ago. Must be glitch.) the receiver does, too. (I didn’t get your text. Must be a glitch.) Imagine both excuses happening on the same text. It’s possible. Maybe everybody’s not happy, but at least they aren’t mad. Some tried, right? Why can’t old people see how great this form of communication is? And learn to use it? Oh, and you can send a text, any time, like when you want to tell someone something but don’t want to talk with them. Early morning, around 3am is the best time for that particular text. They won’t be up for a phone call, and the text might wake them up, a bonus. Genius.

          The best modern technology to keep up with is music. I’ve spoken before of the records, 8-tracks, cassettes, and CD’s of the past, and how ear buds have revolutionized the way we can hear music as loud as we want without upsetting uptight neighbors. For anyone reading this older than me, I just found—online–and listened to a 1943 live recording of “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy” by The Andrews Sisters. The miracle of modern technology isn’t just the access to centuries of music, but the quality of the music, as well. A past post mentioned Jackson Browne and how the vinyl, monaural records of the past have been “digitalized” (read: fixed) and everything can be heard, now, not just the singer and lead guitar. As a single man living alone with slight disabilities, my indoor activities are often accompanied by a soundtrack no one else can hear…or complain about. Try Led Zeppelin’s “When the Levee Breaks” at 11 on your stereo, then add ear buds. Write back to me about who was happier, you or the people in your vicinity. Of, course, they might be Zep fans, so, be ready to share, or explain. Learn to text, old people. Please.

          Yes, I should be listening to “The Great Courses of Mankind”. FYI: I’ve penciled them in for my next hip replacement when I won’t be able to dance for a month.

Dreams

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Its really hard to navigate life without reference points, even with great tools. Finding a goal or a direction or a dream becomes impossible when the shoreline can’t be seen, or the horizon can’t be located, or the sun is blocked…

“I’m sick of following my dreams. I’m just going to ask them where they’re going and hook up with them later.” -Mitch Hedberg

“When I was a kid I used to pray every night for a new bicycle. Then I realized the Lord doesn’t work that way so I stole one and asked Him to forgive me.”-Emo Philips

“I always wanted to be somebody, but now I realize I should have been more specific.”-Lily Tomlin

The fundamental challenge in life is how to live it. We NEVER as young people see a future of old age and decline. Never. And yet, no matter what we do with our life, how much money we make, or how much we waste it all, we all end up with the same simple lifeline: young, old, dead.

As we age it becomes really important to know where you stand, what your position is in life, what your accomplishments are, what you’ve done, what’s your legacy. And we try to manage all of those issues without any form of guidance. Any help. Parents? Its important to remember they are/were as clueless as we are, now. Bible? That would be a good source of guidance if it weren’t so loaded with violence, misogyny, homophobia, and patriarchy. Friends?

“I don’t fail, I succeed in finding what doesn’t work.”-Chris Titus

As the end of my time draws near, it is not a bad thing. My life could have been worse, could have been better, but it was/is overall a journey of few regrets and much enjoyment for the things and time given me.

But this logical train of thought is making me sad, these days. There is an abundance of evidence in the world that millions of people will never get the chance to learn the lessons life offers to all who live long, enough. It isn’t so much the casualty numbers from the many wars, or the horrific famine numbers from countries far way, or the death tolls of catastrophes to numerous to list. And it isn’t the fact death sometimes cuts life short. Recent stories of young people who died early reveals some of them learned something, found something, came to grips with something in the times leading up to their young deaths. What was it?

After 72 years the answer has not revealed itself to me, but there is an undeniable sadness around the loss of opportunity for others. Think of a favorite pet, like my Red, The Dog, from years back. What if he’d never been rescued by my family? In one of my books is a story about Superman. He has given up helping anyone because he can’t help them all. He’s done because he can’t handle the sadness of missing so many as he saves as many as he can.

I’ve been talking a lot with old friends and past acquaintances and the pain of getting old is felt even more when it is someone else’s, especially when dreams have been crushed, hopes dashed, lives not lived as intended. I want to shake them all and say “But you had a chance.”

It’s obvious why most religions offer some form of afterlife. It is a great comfort if you’ve lived a life without too much sin, without too much debauchery. Even if you did, Redemption is the greatest Christian invention, of all. But if we could step outside our own pain and find a reference point, a compass point, and then a path to our own contentedness with what we have done…

And, as noted before, someone I can’t remember said this: “There is a past, a present, and a future. My advice is see them all but live where your feet are.”