IF I LIVE LONG ENOUGH

  I woke up today fresh off a four-day road trip. I had been dreaming; I never remember my dreams but I can tell if they’re good or bad and this one was not bad. My first conscious experience was listening to my feet as they celebrated in the warm pocket at the far end of my sleeping bag. It takes me about 20 minutes to ambulate or stagger or shuffle about; whatever it is that I do to reach the fully dressed, vertical state. In all that time I get familiar reminders that my body is still under my control but certainly there are other forces competing for that distinction. From arthritis in my fingers to rogue toenails that make putting on socks a snag-by-snag challenge, I conclude that I am fit to face the day. 
There are two pill regimes, morning and bedtime. Morning pills are all dietary supplements but different shapes and sizes and if you’re not careful they can send you to the floor in search of escaped vitamins and remedies like magnesium, lutein and turmeric. Waiting for coffee to make is peaceful and I start thinking about things, whatever comes to mind and that can be anything. They say that things happen in three’s and maybe so; recently I’ve been targeted with the argument, “Age, it’s just a number.” In every case the person was late 60’s or early 70’s and my reaction was a subdued, “How would they know?” But we tend to qualify the condition with a number and one’s quality of life, physical condition and overall security certainly do rise above the number itself. 
George Burns original quote drew distinction between aging and bing old, the one is unescapable while the other can be managed by maximizing what it is that you can do. The ‘. . .just a number’ slur could be shorthand for being all you can be. After discovering the Mark Twain quote I like to pair them for a broader, deeper meaning. He said, “Don’t complain about old age. It is a privilege denied to many.” So I take him at his word. I an well into old age but I see it as a privilege rather than a limiting factor. Other cultures have treasured their old people for their experience and wisdom and nurturing but my culture is not one of those. Be sure here, if I am complaining it is about the culture, not the old age.
My best friend in high school was a year behind me. When I graduated in ‘57 he dropped out and joined the Navy. The next time we saw each other was three years later when his ship the Cruiser USS Saint Paul docked in Naha, Okinawa. I was stationed with the Army’s 2/503 Airborne just up the road. He couldn’t get shore leave but I was able to go aboard and hang out with him for several hours. By the time I was discharged Earnest Howard was already home, married his high school sweetheart and working through an electrician apprenticeship. We lost touch when I went off to college but in my 2nd year I learned he had died from a drug/alcohol overdose. 
In 1984 my best friend was a Vietnam veteran and former high school wrestler. I taught biology and coached wrestling at a small-town high school in Southwest Michigan; he was my volunteer assistant wrestling coach. Our families were a match, our wives were great friends, both of us with three sons along with the wrestling connection. He had been in so many fire fights he couldn’t guess how many North Vietnamese & Viet Cong guerrilla fighters he had killed. He had a favorite expression when someone suffered difficulty or bad luck: “Better him than me.” One night he woke up with chest pains and they took him to the emergency room. They ran tests and couldn’t find anything wrong so they released him and sent him home. My best friend Ray Friel didn’t wake up the next morning, dead at 39 from a massive heart attack. We were all crushed. Since then for the next 40 years I have never, ever spoken or mouthed his words, “Better him than me.” other than to tell the reason why. 
Twelve years later in ’96 we had moved away to Missouri, my kids were grown and moved on, a marriage had lost its way and died on the vine and I returned to Michigan to complete my teaching career and retire there. I had a best friend from twenty years before and our families had never lost that magic. He was a pharmacist, our wives were best friends and their two girls were surrogate sisters with my daughter. We considered ourselves “Outlaws” rather than In-laws: family by choice rather than by the ring. John Ridgley had been fighting a losing battle with colon cancer for a couple of years. I was barely settled into my new job teaching physical science (an overlapping introduction to both chemistry & physics). John was under hospice care at home when the nurse told them his time was near. My phone rang in the wee hours, I took a personal day but he passed just before I could get there. I kept busy clearing ice from the sidewalk and steps, moving things that needed to be moved as people arrived with food and condolences. I never went into his room. I didn’t need that for closure, didn’t want to remember him that way. 
John was fixed in the gap between youth and old age but there was a lot of career cut short and grandchildren he would never meet. That was nearly 30 years ago. My three best friends had been denied the privilege of old age. In those 30 years I have lived, literally, lived another lifetime, full of joys and disappointments, triumphs and failures. Still I do not take any of it for granted. All I am doing is taking comfort in the privilege that has been denied to so many. I have not only watched my grandchildren grow up but also played a small part in their stories. In my Dad’s later years he often remarked; “The worst part about long life is that you lose all of your friends.” and I am beginning to see that pattern unfold. I doubt anyone will ever hear me say, “Old age, it’s just a number.” I would rather be identified with; “Be all you can be.” and you do that from moment to moment, in the present. The past is carved in stone and the future is simply beyond our grasp. This moment is the only time you can do anything.” I think it common for people of all ages to fear the idea of mortality. How we deal with mortality is an altogether different issue, better left for another day. But yes! I am an old man, growing older by the day. If I live long enough and good health and benefits prevail I can leave this place someday the same way I got here, with someone feeding me and changing my diapers. 

HUNKERED DOWN

  I am hunkered down for the second night at a Super 8 motel in Fayetteville, Arkansas. Cold weather camping in my van is absolutely in my skillset but I’m taking the easy way out this time. I still hate the idea of throwing way-too-much money at a second rate motel chain just to sleep warm and dry in one of their 3rd rate rooms. If the price seems too good to be true then think again; there is nothing all that good about it. Either the staff are under paid malcontents or nothing in the room works like it should. Room number 125 is on the first floor which is good and it is safe, warm and dry. There is only one working electrical outlet in the room but they did find an extension cord I can plug into the bathroom outlet. Part of my travel kit is a portable power station that can power my CPAP machine for three nights before need a recharge. Actually, I would have been just as well served by carrying it in from the van. The truth is that I love being out here on the road regardless of where I sleep. I sleep in a zero degree rated sleeping bag regardless. In this case it’s on top of the undisturbed covers of the bed and to that extent I am in my own little niche. But enough about second rate motels. 
I spent the afternoon, evening and next morning in Eureka Springs, Arkansas. Since the 1870’s he town’s mineral springs have attracted all kinds of travelers to the healing spring waters. Today it is an incredibly well preserved, charming tourist destination. Be advised, the town is carved into a mountain side and any place you want to check out is a challenging climb up a steep hill. Streets are narrow, no place to park except at meters or in small lots at $5 for 3 hours. Even at that I was taken aback with the crowded space and vertical challenge. The motel on Friday night was, where else, at the top of a steep hill. I want to come back in the summer and stay at one of the classic old hotels in the middle of town that have valet parking. All I need is a companion to be good company on an easy roadtrip. 
Saturday afternoon it wasn’t too long a drive, winding along ridge-tops and twisty, curvy ups and downs. When things leveled out we were on the boundary with Fayetteville. The University of Arkansas is there. I have friends who sent their kids to U of A. The school has a good academic rating and affordable fees; and they don’t charge out of state fees. 
My reason for overnighting here was to visit the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship here. The difference between a church and a fellowship is simply numbers and the ability to employ a full time minister. Still, this morning there must have been twenty members show up for the adult discussion group at 10:00 and sixty or more for the service. I was impressed with the group. University town, Unitarian church, I’m not surprised with the well read, highly educated nature of thee congregation. 
Walking in the door a lady saw me standing in the lobby and challenged me: “You are a visitor?” She welcomed me and we sat together, she and her husband, a retired law professor at U of A. He was 89 and she must have been about the same. The church has a tradition for Thanksgiving Sunday; everyone brings bread and the room is set with tables rather than rows of chairs. Then toward the end they call attention to how important grain and bread in particular has been for the human experience. They placed sliced bread and rolls in baskets on the tables along with shot glasses and pitchers of cider. Then we took several pieces of bread, added a dash of cream cheese or jelly and took communion in the name of all humankind. We talked across the table, communed with bread and cider and it was way-cool. 
They invited me to lunch with them at the Senior Center where they live and I took them up after all, it would have been rude to refuse under the circumstance and by then we had struck a common chord. Nancy and Mort had both been widowed, him twice and they had been together for nearly twenty years. Reflecting on the idea of getting out of town on the long holiday weekend, I should do this more often. 
I’ll be back on the road tomorrow, up I-49. It’s about 3 hours and that’s perfect. I just discovered last week that my car radio is set up for Sirius radio. I didn’t pay for a subscription but it’s there and it works. I wouldn’t be surprised if a former owner is still getting billed for the service. So I can drive and listen to blues or classic rock or easy listening or Top 40 anytime, just about anywhere. For now anyway, life is pretty good. 

MORE THAN JUST A NUMBER

  By definition a Hero is a person who is admired for their courage, their achievements or for other noble qualities. Noble qualities would be high moral principles and greatness of character. My list of heroes has been amended and updated as I have moved through the seasons of my life and by now it is top heavy with accomplished writers, scholars and scientists. When I need a shot of clear-eyed skepticism and unforgiving truth I turn to Samuel Clemens (1835 - 1910). His quotes range from moral benchmarks to keen observations on the human experience. He was unapologetic, a skeptic of the 1st Order and I thrive in his shadow. He is a hero by means of both his literary achievements and of noble character.
I keep discovering or rediscovering Mark Twain quotes that are both profound and empowering. Today I came across these two. The one on ‘Majority’ is not new to me, just put away where I could not find it. “Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it is time to pause and reflect.” I take that to mean, it may not require a change of position but he makes clear his suspicions about herd mentality. Certainly he would have us rethink where it is that we stand and how we got there. The glimpse of wisdom on aging is new to me. “Do not complain about growing old, it is a privilege denied to many.” 
George Burns is credited with; “Age, it’s just a number.” As I understand it, Burns didn’t actually say that but he got the credit. What he said was; “You can't help getting older, but you don't have to get old”. Along the way someone took liberty with his insight and turned it into a clever punch-line. Burns made a distinction between inevitable physical decline and exercising a keen, informed presence at any age. I used to throw the (just a number) thing out in conversation but that was when I was a young 75. A decade later I concede that 85 is more than just a number, it’s a privilege that many have been denied. To deny that one’s sphere is shrinking may stroke a proud ego but it doesn’t hit the pause button. At 85 living in the moment is a sound investment. The axiom has never been more relevant: “Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery and today is a gift. That’s why we call it the present.” Today, in the moment, it’s the only day I will ever be able to my hands on. The "Present" requires gratitude and respect; I try to spend it on something noble, something that would please my mother.
Samuel Clemens is not alone at the top of my list. Carl Sagan and Sylvia Earle are right up there, champions of making science relevant to the layperson without dumbing it down. Helen Keller and Kurt Vonnegut reveal human nature with both its grand possibility and dark side as well. I lean on all of them when I feel the need.
Thanksgiving will be here in a few days. It is a time for both humility and gratitude. I have given up on the God that sanctions wars and racism and greedy bastards who abuse the planet, who take and put nothing back, profiting from human suffering. So my humble ’Thank-you’ will go out into the universe unaddressed. Before 1492 the true native tribes of North America believed, if you want to know what the creator expects of us then pay attention to how creation works. Take some, leave some, we’re all in this together. Thank you! Thank you for the plants and animals that replicate and regenerate their own kind so there is enough for us to eat and drink and sustain. If caution is the better part of valor (and I believe it is) then I would also think that humility is the better part of gratitude. “Mitakuye Oyasin, We are all related!”

TRACKING THE SUN'S ARC

  As a holiday gift to myself I write a Season’s Greeting, print it on appropriate stationery and send copies to my special people. Not that some people are special and others are not but certainly some are more special than others. When or where I read it I can’t say but reliable research indicates that we (humans) can maintain a limited number of personal relationships, about 100, give or take. It seems maintaining a personal relationship requires a time/energy investment and we can only spread ourselves so thin. My gift to me makes me take time to reflect on my more special people, even if it lasts only long enough to write a short remark, sign my name and stuff the envelope.
This is a good place to discriminate between my special people and others who share my place in time, who do meet the relationship requirement but don’t measure up otherwise. After all, not all relationships bear fruit. I have beaucoup special people and we don’t have to curry the other’s favor. Our backstory includes chapters and verse that circumvent the need for maintenance.
I’ve been working on my Season’s Greetings for 2024. The writing and printing are finished, all the envelopes are stamped and addressed. Later today I will begin the time consuming part, taking my time to remember what makes that person so special, then be thinking of them, make a comment and sign my name. That is the gift. In that moment I realize how wonderful this life has been and what a dreadful place this would have been if not for them and our special connection.
In the past 30 years especially, I have embraced the fall season with all of its holidays as my Holiday Season and I try in my own way to celebrate them all. For as long as humankind has been tracking the sun’s arc and the corresponding seasons, autumn has been a time of anticipation as well as a time of plenty. So they celebrated the bounty of summer and prepared for the long-dark-cold. Thanksgiving fills that breach now. Christians would have it be a religious observance but gratitude and dependance on natures whims don’t need a god to appreciate our place in the natural order. 
The oldest, longest observed holiday across human history is celebrated just a few weeks later. Winter Solstice might slip by unnoticed with all the hype on Christmas. The sun’s arc had been sinking lower in the south since early summer and the winter-cold was in close pursuit. Prehistoric cultures watched closely. The time of harvest plenty was long past and they needed evidence if not a harbinger of better things to come. When the sun’s arc stops sinking and begins to climb again it signals the return to longer, warmer days and shorter nights. It was a time to take courage and endure but better times were on the way. Solstice falls around December 20 or 21 since before we had a calendar. Its close proximity to Christmas is no coincidence. In the churches zeal to convert pagans they positioned the birth of Christ to coincide with Solstice. Reframing the holiday under false pretense to draw pagans into the church was devious but it worked. The biblical account had Jesus born when sheep were in the field, when Romans paId taxes in the cities of their birth. That would be in the spring. The Papacy knew that but was much more concerned with converting pagans than historical accuracy. I still celebrate Christmas but not the ‘Prince of peace’ story. I like the music, the tradition of exchanging gifts and in its own way the warm feelings that announce the onset of bitter cold. 
With my family scattered I will break bread with a few friends on Thanksgiving day but it’s a long, four day weekend and I am trying to hatch a plan for a roadtrip. My thinking now is to spend the Friday, Saturday & Sunday in NW Arkansas, exploring those tourist towns without the tourists. I’ll take my camera and see what unfolds. If that doesn’t pan out, I’m still thinking, still going over the maps. 

IN REAL TIME

I just finished watching a six part Netflix series that chronicled the life and times of Alexander The Great (356 BCE - 323 BCE). Long story-short; from the Greek kingdom of Macedonia Alexander was thrust into a precarious position. He could seize the throne and go far away to prove himself in battle or try to hold down the home front and be murdered like his father before him. Alex was already a fierce warrior at 20 years, lacking experience but not the insight and cunning that would prove his metal. Always outnumbered, he led his army against the Persians, conquering what is now Turkey, then Egypt where they made him a god and he built a city worthy of his name, Alexandrea, at the mouth of the Nile. The Persian King, Darius III thought him of little consequence until the upstart from Macedon sent the Persian armies in full retreat several times and was approaching Babylon. Darius then led his full army in person to regain his pride and reputation. Seriously, these were real people, not made up characters in a Tom Clancy novel.

If Alexander led an army of 60,000 then Darius had an army of 150,000. But Alex wanted to defeat Darius in battle to secure his own place in history. Always a step ahead of the Persians, Alexander was a natural tactician. He maneuvered the puzzle pieces, dictated the time and place of every battle and used every advantage to rout the Persians. Darius fled with a small contingent and was killed by his own generals for his cowardice. Alexander came through Babylon’s front gate and took over as the new king of Persia (Iraq). In the next few years he took his army as far east as India, laying waste to whoever didn’t surrender.

The thought that a such a young man could lead his army so far, live off the land for so long and prevail is hard to fathom. Ironically, Alexander The Great died mysteriously in Babylon at the age of 32. He had run out of places to conquer. His concerns about surviving in his homeland, Macedonia seem moot as he never returned. I cannot get my head around that time factor, so many fighters on the move, relentless, up close, swords and spears. It took half a year to reposition troops for the next battle.

In the 2nd Iraq war in 2003, it took about 12 hours for 45 stealth fighters and bombers stationed in Missouri to fly the 7,000 miles and render Saddam Hussein’s radar and control centers useless. Saddam Hussein had boasted waging the mother of all wars as Darrius had done sone 2300 years before, both on the same landscape. Coalition troops found Hussein hiding in a spider hole and his demise was as pitiful as Darrius’ had been so long ago.

        Everything happens faster now. It took Alexander a decade to change the world. Babylon was a great city in what is now central Iraq but all that is left there is desert and ruins and anthropologists, digging and sorting artifacts. But Alexandria is still a great city, his city, where the Nile River spills into the Mediterranean Sea. I have trouble trying to imagine what he was like in person. I doubt I would want him for a friend as he was certainly preoccupied with an army to lead or lands yet to conquer. In Egypt he was a god after all and I don’t really put much stock in gods. I doubt, after the first victories in that first year that he wanted for anything. I’m just an old survivor who doesn’t want for anything that I truly need and and I don’t know how to improve on that. I enjoy an electric toothbrush and toothpaste made special for sensitive teeth and I doubt Alexander ever ate a BLT. Still, I can have a BLT whenever I feel like it. I don’t need to be feared or lead an army. Alexander The Great lived out a great story but I wouldn’t want that for myself, just like I didn’t want to wage war in Baghdad against Saddam Hussein. Watching that stuff on Netflix or YouTube is both enlightening and interesting enough to satisfy my curiosity. Some things are better experienced vicariously but in real time, I would rather go fishing. 

BOOTS & A PITCHFORK

  Too old to be a preteen and not quite a full fledged teenager it was my job to clean out the stalls in the barn. I had rubber boots, a pitchfork, gloves and a wheelbarrow but sh*t is still sh*t and I couldn’t clean the barn without wading through it. Our milk cow grazed the pasture but took her grain at the feed box in her stall. Cows are Ruminants, cud chewing mammals with a four chambered stomach and it takes lots of grain & grass to meet their nutritional requirement. So they sh*t a lot, everywhere, all the time. My dad milked twice a day and both the milk bucket and his feet were in close proximity to fresh cow poop. In the barn it didn’t dry up as quickly as outside so my job was to minimize the sloppy, smelly stuff in the back half of the stall. We kept straw down so the manure would stay together on the pitchfork. It was a twice a week chore and it didn’t take long to perfect a technique that let cow crap stick to my boots and the tines of the pitchfork but not on me. I rolled the wheelbarrow load outside, spread cow sh*t around and if I got back to the house without any crap on me it was like dodging the bullet. 
The 2024 Presidential election has spent itself and the writing is on the wall. I am not particularly upset with the winner himself but I can’t say the same for his admirers. I understand why the 1% want to protect their investments and how evangelical Christians (Pentecostal) and other like minded believers have clung to a religion that has been transformed into a political action group. The rest of the MAGA crowd can be separated into several profiles but to some degree they all have personalities that gravitate to self obsessed, charismatic leaders and populist bigots. Both would have us believe their quest is to realize a righteous purpose but in the end it’s a power grab with no sense of conscience or consequence.  The whole MAGA empire reminds me of an old story when dairies sold milk directly to customers. The milkman with his dairy truck delivered door to door several times a week. A man’s wife was cheating on him with the milkman and everybody except the man knew it. When friends and neighbors tried to convince the cuckoled husband of his wife’s infidelity he went straight into denial saying “No, no, and anyway, I love all the free ice cream.” 
I’ve spoken here before to what I see as extreme conservatives who are wandering in search of something even more extreme. If you go to the urban dictionary the noun, “Trumpfuckery” is defined as; “Anything involving racist, misogynistic, hateful speech and actions masquerading as patriotism.” I think the expression is spot on, not to fault Trump. How he got to be what he is was not his decision, rather a complicated process of some bad DNA, inherited fortune, timing, predatory role models and opportunity to exploit others; how could he have turned out any other way? On the other hand it is disappointing that the majority of voting Americans are smitten with a self-righteous, self-obsessed, authoritarian and the path they would have us go.
Amazing the way these two stories resemble each other. We survived four years with a narcissist demagogue at the helm. Then a four year break and here we go again. I get the feeling as long as his cuckoled followers are feasting on the free ice cream I’ll have to keep my boots and pitchfork on standby. 

CHLE RELLENOS OR CARNITAS

I voted early last week, got there an hour before they opened and still stood in line for two and a half hours. When I finished the line was twice as long as when I began which meant lots of folks were looking at a four or five hour wait. Today I’m getting text messages every ten minutes to vote for someone or something but I am out of ammunition. I get one vote and it has been spent. 

I have the same dismal expectation as in 2020. At the time I didn’t see how the good guys could win but they did. My friend’s optimism proved more reliable than my skepticism. It’s hard to feel confident about anything in this climate but my coffee group is more optimistic and I take some hope in that. Changing the subject: I haven’t done anything in the wood shop for nearly a year. If discretion really is the better part of valor then maybe I’m better as well. As I accumulate more years I loose something in the process, like coordination, keen sight not to mention physical strength. I still have all of my fingers and thumbs and I really like them but all it would take to change hat would be a little slip or miscue. So I’m not making serious sawdust in my basement nowadays. But I belong to the Kansas City Woodworkers Guild and we have a a modern, professional wood shop that I can use nearly every day. It’s about a forty minute drive but I don’t have to sharpen or adjust any tools, just be safe, get some oversight if I need some expert assistance and clean up when I’m finished. I got motivated the other night when I couldn’t fall back asleep after a middle of the night wakeup; I want to get back into the sawdust game. 

Back before Covid I made a tabletop from Spalted Maple, 24”x52” and an inch and a half thick. But I never got around to making the frame and legs. After the pandemic subsided I acquired several awesome Cherry boards; 7’ long, 2 1/2” thick and 8” to 12” wide. After a long spell in the dark basement I now have plans for them. With just a hint of twist and warp, they will straighten out flat after just a few passes through the joiner and planer. I drove 40 minutes in the rain today, got some good help from the foreman for the day and did the blocking out on a set of four tapered legs for my table. From the radial arm saw to the ban saw to the joiner and finish on the planer; tomorrow or the day after I’ll go back and pick up where I left off, learning how to ‘Taper’ the legs. I understand the process but need to get the sequence and angles exactly as they should be. 

‘Frieze’ is the proper name for the skirt or apron that connects the legs and supports the table top. It will be more sawing with the same tools, just thinner boards. The trick is to connect them at all four corners and attach the legs so there is no wobble but I’ll get help on that. I haven’t felt this good about sawdust in a long time. If nothing else it keeps my mind from tanking over election crap. Tomorrow is election day, no more campaign rhetoric just Trump making noise, “They cheated” if he loses or “I can’t wait to punish my enemies.” if he wins. He actually believes his own fiction. I’ll leave the radio turned off and listen to music on my smart phone.  Making sawdust today was better than I expected. I knew I would come back around to it but the basement has become a dangerous place and the drive downtown is a (PITA). It’s like the more often you make a drive the it gets easier. Besides, the Guild moved from its old location to a better building with more/better parking which are nice but the kicker is; it is just a couple of blocks from the best Mexican restaurant in Kansas City. So if I go early and break for lunch it’s either Chile Rellenos or Carnitas.