Another Amusing Thing About Old Age?

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.

Speculation On The Origin Of Man…and Woman

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.