Speeding

We elders are accused of slow thinking or worse. This, one assumes, means that we don't think fast enough. Or we don't think as quickly as those who have not yet reached their potential in life. Speed is not a big issue when you are over the hill. You've already climbed up the darn thing as fast as you could for all of your life, and now you want to coast down the other side. A well earned break from the rat race. But still society continues to push for fast thinking as well as "fast" everything else. I am retired from all that and it doesn't matter a fig to me if I solve the crossword, play Bridge or Scrabble or unload my shopping cart at warp speed. It's the same with walking. The other day I strolled along the sea walk at my favorite pace. Slow and gazing. The day was sunny, the breeze gentle and the trees along the seawall, green and fragrant. Coming at me and past me were others crashing along in their slashy skin tights, ear buds blooming and big plastic clompers, thumping. As they whizzed and dodged past or darted among the people on the pathway who were trying to enjoy the pleasant ambiance, their eyes were focused not on the beauty they were passing through, but on some other goal in some other place. I wondered why they bothered to clutter up the seawalk when for them, a concrete tunnel would have been just as appropriate as long as they could receive a signal in its depths. For those who are plugged in, and often jabbering into their mikes, a nature event has no place. Perhaps that's why, when it rains, they spend a lot of time running on a machine going to absolutely nowhere, fast and furiously. They don't look happy this balmy summer day. They seem annoyed that there are other folks wanting simply, to take in the ocean waves, to hear the gulls calling and to savor the blueness of the waters. Before one enters the beach walkway, there are little sidewalk symbols directing bicycles certain ways and those with pets another, but there is one missing. Runners should have their very own lane, one on which they can speed, chatline, text, and ear bud their rock and rap. It would avoid having them brush up against your sleeves with their sweaty spandex. Exercise is wonderful and might even be healthful, but it has no appeal to me at this stage, nor do lauded ninety year old fools who are "wonderful" physical examples. Be honest; they're lovely freaks, not the norm. Speaking of which, I need to sit down and rest my trotters. I am more than full of fresh air and sunshine. Where is that nice, little sea-side cafe that serves iced tea?

Oh Come On

There is an old story called "Dog In The Manger" and I don't need to retell it. Amazingly, in this cosmopolitan world, we still have people who are those kinds of puppies. They want everything to stay as it is, unless they make the change, and if anyone tries to make a change, however small, adding or shaving off a bit, they become very reactionary. For example, I  park next to someone who doesn't want anyone stepping over the painted line into his parking space. Not a step, he tells me. Now, what harm is going to take place if someone steps over that line? He does not hold the deed to the space, he is merely assigned to it. His sense of ownership, however misplaced, is so strong that he secretly photographs the area so that he can learn who steps over his lines. They will hear from him, and vociferously. Unfortunately, I drew the parking spot next to him and my car is wide and  it isn't always possible not to toe a bit over his line. He has confronted me about it. Oh come on. Another example of the Manger Dog attitude is when someone builds something next to another lot or makes some perfectly legal changes that are regarded as offensive to its neighbour, a conflict often results. One of the neighbourhoods I know of, had an individual build a home next lot over, and painted the exterior of his modern house, a very dark brown, bordering on black. It looks stunning and appropriate for his structure, but it is different from some of the surrounding homes. Instead of welcoming the newcomer to the block, the neighbours, inspired by the man next door, made a huge fuss, hieing off to the local newspaper, decrying what they called the deterioration of the street with the "offensive" new dark coloured building. Oh come on. Now what is the harm? It is likely that the owner worries that his investment looks shabby compared to the new smart, dark one beside him. Or does he simply dislike the colour? Does one have the right to deny others of their rights to choose a style or paint colour? Unless there is a neighbourhood association or complex ruling, people are able to paint their houses as they choose, in relatively good taste, of course. Then, there are hillside concerns, particularly where water views are involved. In view locations, views are jealously protected and when another person interferes with a new edifice that impedes the other's view to any degree, there is trouble. Oh come on. It is understandable, but sometimes we have to compromise, hard as it is, even when views must be shared in part. Unless there is some kind of law that forbids the latter happening, it will and does happen. It's called buyer beware. Bylaws do not necessarily protect owners in all cases. They can be changed. I found another odd situation the other day in which residents in a certain  condominium building, found that another building was to be constructed next to theirs. At present there is a house there. The residents at the side of the condo building, complain that a multi-unit structure next to theirs will take away their privacy, They say the new units can look into their sundecks and windows. Windows have a habit of looking both ways, I think they forget. The property was bought by a developer who constructs very beautiful places just like the one the protesters live in. Why do they think they can stop anyone from constructing a building on the private property owned next door. There is no reason, since their views are not impeded any more than they are now, nor is the sunlight. At present, while not a building, very tall trees border each property and no one complains about their height impeding sunlight or views.  Oh come on.

The Perfect Poem

There is no one perfect poem. First, to say that, there must be a reason, and part of it is to try and explain what a poem is and second, what a "perfect" poem is. Perfect, that is, for one individual, but not all. Writing is an elusive art like most others. Its success all seems to depend on its popularity. Those masters who teach poetry expound on certain poets who have or have had, a following. Apart from the poets' dexterity in word-smithing, they know how to see the world at large and find something to write about, something that resonates in the reader. When you read or hear the words, you think "oh, how true", "that's exactly how I feel when...", "this brings tears to my eyes". The poet pulls something out of you that you know is truth. To you. Someone else may read the poem and see nothing of value. That's how elusive poetry is. Like music or painting or sculpture or seeing dance, it's a personal emotion that is elicited only by savoring the piece. It may be palatable, memorable, or not. Artists don't go around asking, or shouldn't, if this or that expression of theirs, is okay with you. They feel something personal and are compelled to express it in whatever form of talent they possess. They are people who can't stop themselves from getting it out, whether in words or notes or clay or paint or elegant movement. They don't do it for financial gain and if that happens, it is soon found out and abhorred. Not that some artists who become famous in their lifetimes, aren't tempted to do some commercial things and often do, but public awareness is very keen to see through such forms. I am on a site on-line that daily presents a poem. Most of the poets are people who teach at universities but sometimes a classic poem is dropped into the mix. The two are easily distinguishable. Modern poets seem to look around and paint themselves onto their environment while the classic poets, looked at the environment and found themselves within it.  Frost and others of the more modern set, have that gift of telling, in a few clean words with no affectations, what we all know is truth and beauty, something always there, but that we  we were not aware of. They bring to us, feelings about common things or events that we lost long ago or were never discovered, but that now leap to the surface of our thoughts, and we find pleasure in them. Sometimes poetry flings us into new ideas and places that are exciting or frightening or seductive or amusing. They drag emotions out of us that we didn't know we had. So what is a perfect poem? One that was, and is to be.

Sneaky Abuse

There's overt abuse that is seen and before now, seldom spoken, but there is another worse kind that is invisible. Abusers know how to wield their ugly powers and this kind of abuse can't be detected by the police or welfare workers, or often, friends or family. It's like a creeping blood disease and the users of this kind of abuse, are masters of it. Let me give you an example: the abuser puts on an anger display or temper tantrum to create the effect he or she desires to gain power over others. It is the kind of emotional drama that eats away at its victims and allows for an awesome power to the one doing it. He or she uses the victim's emotional vulnerability to arm his weapon. Ways to end it, if possible, are complicated and often need professional help to make it stop, but first, just knowing what it is, helps. Lots of victims are not willing to be aware, even though they suffer this sort of "quiet" abuse. The victim is controlled emotionally by his own nervous system that he lets slowly and innocently, become destroyed by the perpetrator or abuser. One example I have seen is anger display by a man who knows exactly what he is up to. He puts on a dreadful scene of ire at social events, with language that is crude and loud. He is not alcoholic or violent other than his words. He uses anger display to embarrass his victim, his mate or relative, so that they will do anything to avoid having it happen again. The abuser I know, if anyone disagrees with him or he wants to "punish", will put on a loud and abusive show with words or tossings of things or fist bangings on tables, anything to embarrass his spouse in this case. She cries and runs off, and in future, terrified that he will do this again, and therefore, does anything to avoid it happening. She used to have a social life of entertaining family and friends at their home, but now does not, because of his displays. And her emotional reactions to it. They seldom have people in, and if so, only for a very short and very tense period that is uncomfortable for all parties. The husband, has social control over his wife and he knows it. She is afraid that he will embarrass her and thus she has even given up her family  because he might put on one of his tantrums that she thinks, makes her look bad. He, a one-time physical abuser until stopped by police, is successful, in that, in his mind, he now has his mate all to himself and under his control in a different way. He threatens to perform his outbursts even when she goes out for a time on her own, so that now he controls that, also. He has successfully, cut her off from a part of her life that should be hers. What is sad, is that she can do something about it and only she can. Why doesn't she? For one thing, the situation would end in some sort of financial mess or divorce or family crisis and she is a peaceful person caught in a netted trap that she thinks she cannot escape from. She can, but fears to. It's a huge step to take. But, by doing nothing, she is abusing her own right to happiness. She must take that difficult step by herself. It is but another one of life's very hard choices.

Condo Love

There is much criticism about "towers" and "these multi-storied" buildings ruining the city landscape.  But we have to build up, good or bad. The fact is, that owning "dirt" is becoming a toy only for the rich. The average young persons of average means, haven't much hope of house ownership without being saddled by huge, lengthy mortgages. If the latter folks find affordable house property, it's usually far from their work location. Living rurally means dealing with high costs of fares, tolls and fuel, not to mention the daily frustrations of traffic. One  of the fair price solutions for urban dwellers, whether cities like it or not, is ownership of condos or townhouses. Hundreds, nay thousands of home dwellers, when they become empty-nesters, opt to sell their investment in a city house, and search for a condominium. It appears that young families are also finding, in the cities, townhouses or apartments with small yards, to be good family living spaces. Close by, are schools, day-care, parks and cultural events. The days of planting an oak tree in the front yard of your house and hanging up a swing for your great grandchildren, are over. In the first place, city taxes defy long-term ownership for the seniors who started out modestly, and slowly saw the value of their "savings" drizzle away, while their property values soared. To cash-in on their years of patience, they sell out and buy a condo. Condo living has its obvious disadvantages: rules and "close encounters",  but the advantages far outweigh the challenging aspects. Moving into something beautiful and more compact - and some units are very compact -makes life much easier.  Many folks I know, who have unloaded their life's flotsam and jetsam, find a whole new world to consider. In their spanking new, small, easy-keep home, they have time to enjoy themselves in a fresh style. Finally, there is time to socialize, relax, explore and discover. It can push one into learning new skills, pursuing the hobby you've always wanted to do and at leisure, to see your family at yours, and not their convenience. Unlike the days when you hosted the gang at the "big" house, now, you can go stay with them and eat their meals and enjoy their kids for a change. Where I live, I also see condo couples finally catching up. Anew, they have time for romantic outings and travels and mostly, each other.

Last Secret Place

The day of computer versus Man is here. We use computer knowledge hugely in our daily lives. Computers offer all kinds of benefits in entertainment, education, socializing, business and inter-communication. They calculate and solve. They store facts for easy access. They predict to a degree. Computer development scientists are working on "thinking computers". But, in fact, their work is futile. Computers can't "think" the way we do. Take lie detectors that are not one hundred percent accurate as an example. Certainly, they can gather  knowledge about your reactions to stimuli and they have memories that can't be matched by humans, but they will never achieve entering that very private place where human thought controls what actually, we do. The human mind is not entirely readable. Playing games against computers and winning without fail, is well nigh impossible. The computer set-up reads patterns in your play. It memorizes them and predicts your strategies. It draws on its infallible gifts put there by scientists, to use against you, in the play. What it can't predict is your "quirk". What you do, while recorded, and that information, accumulated, can't predict your behaviour. Your unpredictability or your mood or your timing cannot be read with absolute precision. We have emotions that control what we do, and when and how, we do things. The range is enormous and from person to person, it is just not not entirely predictable. Statistics, therefore, cannot be perfectly reliable. There's always a percentage that, while perhaps possible to ascertain, applies only to numbers and not individual people with their unique thought and feeling, qualities. The human mind is a devious creature. What it does sometimes, or even most of the time, is not what it will always do. We are not fully set in certain ways that can accurately tell or predict how we will always react. One day we love ice-cream, the next we are tired of it and desire something else. Not even we know, ourselves, how we will react in every case. Sometimes we feel like being playful and at other times, we find we are serious and thoughtful. We have a range of emotions that defy completely accurate determination. There are some people who are seemingly stuck in routines and are taken to be candidates for a "close reading" of what they will and will not do. But being unable to read those minds to know exactly what they might do, and the word "might" is the key, makes them human and not computers, no matter how "smart" the computer may be. Those humans who unfortunately have been isolated and kept from communication with others and completely controlled, still have their private thoughts, their place to go where no one else can. Those imprisoned and  away from all others may be entirely directed, but no one can take from them, their secret inner mind. The mind is free should we let it be. If the human mind could be controlled and read perfectly, without exception, it would be the day, we become less than computers. It would be the last day of Man.

So Boring

Boredom is about the worst affliction known to Man. The word "boring" is flung about regularly as a state of being, a personal jab, a general description of anything that one simply doesn't like in the first place. Boredom kills. I watched a dear one who, with medical needs that could not be met at home,  placed in a "home" only to slide down to a vegetative state and dying much sooner than naturally. It was not a pretty sight. The institution was not to blame. So often, I hear from those who are in "homes", that it is boring. And it's the truth. In spite of all efforts in these kinds of places, there is a routine that is deadly observable and dreaded by the intelligent folks who live in them. There are activities designed to effect interest. These might be exercise classes, games, outings and invited entertainments but even those see residents eventually groaning with boredom. So what else is needed? What can be done to make life for those involved, more interesting? The people in the "homes" need extra care; that is undeniable. So what's the problem? First and most important of all, people cast into such places, need to feel useful. When I was in hospital once, for a couple of weeks and not particularly ill, but in need of IV care, I was bored enough to think of escape, IV tower and all. I wanted desperately to do something useful, anything but endless seeming hours of doing nothing but wait for the meal cart to roll around, watchTV, read, try to entertain visitors. Anything but wait for the little Dixie cups of so-called food and luke-warm coffee. So what do you do at home, that's more interesting you ask? For starters, I do laundry, cleaning, shopping, cooking and all the other necessary tasks running my own home. There are other needs, too, such as sewing repairs, maintenance of equipment and driving out: scores of the small necessities of every day life. This is useful work and when its finished, there is a feeling of accomplishment. That's what's missing. In a "home" where all needs are met for one's personal care in every way, there seems no reason to go on. The monthly menu with its hot dog and meat loaf day obviously happen on a particular Thursday or Tuesday religiously. The bathing takes place on such and such a day and the entertainment, on another. The routine is deadly. There is nothing for the "me"that is "me" to do. And kindergarten crafts don't hack it. In defense of those trying to do their best to make life pleasant in "homes", the facts remain solid. The people there are afraid to rebel. Maybe they won't get ice cream on ice-cream day. I like the idea of having gardens for residents, where one can possibly grow something other than African Violets: why not chives or parsley to actually use? Folding towels or other linens, no kidding, is satisfying, more so than staring out the window watching sparrows at the bird feeder. Why can't residents of "homes"be given something useful to do: host tea parties, sit in on planning sessions, make sandwiches. Anything but sitting and waiting for somebody or something to do it all. Boorriing.

Whoa There

Life has lots of little complications, but we humans seem to want to add more and more. It isn't good enough to have our automobiles tell us when they need oil or the trunk is open, but now they want to drive themselves. Recently, this latest gizmo proved to be a killer. What it tells me about our love affair with electronics, is that we are slowly allowing ourselves to lose control. It starts in little ways. We trust that the microwave oven will go off when it says it will. I had a nasty experience with one that didn't. Fortunately, I was present and could pull the plug and stop what might have become a serious fire. The appliance was near new and one of the top quality brands. Neither mattered. The electronics failed. Why do we think we can trust, to be infallible, devices that run themselves?  We trust that it's safe if an "expert" says it is. The news is, that nothing, not people nor machines, is entirely safe or reliable or trustworthy. We need to be careful that there is always a manual fail-safe option. My residence is currently installing a host of security devices and aids while we, joint owners,  all know perfectly well  that they are not completely foolproof. There are criminals out there who  make their livings out of knowing how to overcome any and all kinds of security measures and who knows, could be also the ones installing them. It has happened. Paranoia you charge? These days of hearing about identity theft, fraud and street crime, a little paranoia or preparedness might be a very good thing to own. We don't want to go around being suspicious of everything, but let's call it simply, a self-protective caution. The first rule of self-defense is  to avoid getting oneself into a situation that might require more stringent defensive action than can be dealt with. Stepping into a vehicle that runs itself, puts a lot of trust  into a machine that is robotic. Pushing a vehicle  button and sitting back to let it make road decisions with other huge, heavy rolling beasts whizzing alongside, is trust-overload in my book. It's about as safe as texting while driving which some idiot potential criminals continue to do in spite of all statistics that say it is lethal. Even going on holiday without turning off the water source is too trusting. Coming back from a lovely cruise once, I was greeted by water rushing out the door. A pipe had burst days before. The months it took to clean up the mess was not worth it. Hmm. Guess I ought to get one of those electronic devices that shows me what's happening in my house when I'm not there?

Age Treatment

I wrote a cheque the other day, with the receiver looking on, and some time later discovered that the person's last name was incorrect. Why didn't that individual say something? Probably, she was embarrassed, not for herself, but for me. It was an example of how not to treat someone older. Being of an age, does not mean one is stupid or helpless or forgetful any more than anyone else. Nor does it mean elders are necessarily wiser or more deserving or needful. Age is merely a number, and that's all it is. But in our society that worships the look of youthfulness and small numbers in just about everything but money, aging is regarded as something distasteful and fearsome. Pre-judgements are made. I heard a middle aged person say, "they all lose it". I don't think she knew she was speaking of her future self. What we lose is patience for such sweeping statements that apply not to everyone who has grown or shall grow old. When does "old" happen? Does it occur at fifty, sixty, eighty? When?  Forgetfulness or just forgetting in someone younger, is acceptable, but if you look old, over a certain number in years, it is assumed to be a sign of "Alzheimers". Eyeballs roll and fingers tap foreheads. Statistics argue that aging is not a loss of memory in every aspect, nor do they agree that it happens at a specific age. My message to those who have not yet entered the "golden years", is to regard age as a natural stage in life. It's a time that every single creature has ahead and it's not always one that is painful or forgetting or stupid. Of course our appearances change as they always have, of course we make the same silly mistakes everyone does, of course our bodies may not be able to do what they once could. It's all perfectly natural and nothing to fear or decry. I abhor the endless, trite jokes about aging, but then, I think, when we are afraid of something, many of us laugh and make fun of what we fear and that, too, is natural. So, how do we treat the aged, you ask. The cardinal rule would be to avoid patronizing the elder. Because one is aged doesn't mean he or she is an old infant. Be respectful just as you would of anyone. But realizing that aging does need assistance sometimes, ask the person in adult terms and tone. Most aging people enjoy real conversation. When I say real, I don't mean that you want someone sidling up and speaking to you  in a cooing voice. While most elders say nothing back, they are likely groaning inside. I once entered an elevator in a medical building and when an elderly woman took a long time to come in due to walking difficulties, someone reached out to take her arm and steady her. She snapped, "If I want your help, I'll ask for it." I think that example says it all.

Bloggerel

Bloggery is like doggerel expression in a way. It's amateur out-loud rambling prose or thought that writer's scribble, not thinking if anyone reads it. Nor do they care much. But occasionally, you have a response that surprises you. What, you say? Where did this come from? And why? Aha, there's the rub. When you write publicly, you just might get an answer from someone who either likes what you write or hates it. And that's all okay. That individual has as much right to make criticism and so on, as you do. You needn't take it to heart and certainly need not stop what you write or how you write. Some responses should be answered, others ignored. At times, there are threatening ones, and they are to be dealt with in whatever secure manner is available. It is all part of letting "the dogs out", the "dogs" of your publication need, humble though it may be. The word "publication" is just that: you are going public with what you write. And if so, watch your back. Writers of fame have the advantage of making a living at it and that, in itself, is a confidence builder. No one who makes disparaging remarks about what you write or how you write is to be taken too seriously because you have an opinion and are legally entitled to express it. To a degree. Some people read a piece and convert it to mean them personally, and they react. As the saying goes "it's not all about you". It's a big world and unless specific reference is made in certain directions, it is not necessarily aimed at any certain target. That would be slanderous or libelous. There are unspoken rules of good taste that are obvious but when you find an example of something you want to write about positively or negatively, you can do so. It is how you do it that makes you not cross the lines of good taste.  Dickens wrote about the proverty of industrial England in his fiction when if he spoke about it otherwise, might hang from a public gibbet. Most nursery rhymes and fairy tales we teach our children, are not about bridges or  bears or bunnies.  If you do a little research, you will find that songs and poems of old, had messages hidden in the text. Their authors, often anonymous, were trying to improve their social environments. It was the only way that they could get their protests across. They couldn't simply trot down to the local newspaper and plunk in an article on how unfair some governing body was or who did what nasty thing to someone else. In the first place, the newspapers then, as of today, are paid for by ads and if you dare to insult one of the advertisers, they will quit and if too many do, down goes the paper. ( Aside: that's why most of the newspapers of this day are owned by very large and powerful companies. Look it up. ) But back on topic: writers will continue to use the pen as sword now, as in the days of Shakespeare. Writing is a voice, a tool used not just to entertain, but often to teach, and certainly, always to learn.

Olympic Finish Lines

The next Olympic games are to be held in Rio, Brazil. Having stayed in that city and viewed both its extreme poverty and its wealth, I wonder how on earth that venue was sought or chosen. Recent news reports indicate severe stress on Rio's economy resulting in demonstrations and violence, even before the games have begun. In fact every country in the past, having hosted the games, has opted for expenses that should merit a gold medal far bigger than those handed to the winning sport competitors. The whole Olympic show is out of control in its glorious pomp. The cheering crowds inside, those who can pay for the seats to view the games and the grand openings and closings, are not aware nor likely care, that there are people living not far away, who can't afford to feed their children properly. To me, it overshadows the true meaning of the original mandate of such an international competition. The games no longer represent sport; it's all about entertainment.  It's Hollywood. It's Vegas. It's Jurassic Park.  Almost forgotten, although of late, even the private lives of those participating have become movie fare, are the athletes and their life-long endeavors to don the designer uniform and represent their countries. The pressure put on young sport figures to achieve not only their best, but also that for entire nations, is vast. The cost to countries who host this show while speaking of how it helps their economy, seem to be blind to those it hurts. Anti-games riots while criminal activity, tell something. They tell that there is dissent and disagreement about what's happening to people, not just the rich who indulge in great events such as The Games, but also how it impacts the poor of those nations. When billions of tax-payer currency is bandied about like basketballs, to effect the lastest technologies in building things for the games that will be torn down after, or converted into facilities that only well-off citizens can afford to use, what is the point? Before we put on the next big show, perhaps there should be a second look at what's really going on with the Olympic Games?

Are We Okay?

One day while surfing the 'net, I came across a piece about a woman who has a plastic surgery habit. She is an entertainer of a sort, who has "enhanced" parts of her body to extremes. The upper part is enormous and her waist, almost not there. Her mouth is so pumped up that she can barely speak, but she says, she wants a waist that is sixteen inches and that's in her plan for a further procedure. Actually, she was in another country for an eye colour change surgery, to make them a violent blue which she feels is more beautiful. In the film, as the woman walked down the street, she was surrounded by males of that land oogling her. She said it was because they adored her. She dressed as bizarrely as her body looked with its hornet waist, achieved it's ridiculous size by removing a number of her  ribs. Of course her hair was voluminous to an extreme, and her choice of attire, theatrical.  I hasten to say that these are her choices and if she chooses to take those choices and pay for them, that's her business. There are those who would cluck about the sinfulness of it and so on, but sin, in that case, is applicable to everyone without exception. It isn't a matter of degree entirely. The subject of "adjustment", shall we call it, is intriguing.  And it's not only women who take on this sort of thing. Some men and even children crave to change their appearances, and do. More and more males are into muscle building, facials and haircuts, fancy beard trims and fashion. While this odd woman goes to what we consider to be extremes, there are almost no persons who don't take on some kind of "enhancement". False and coloured hair, make-up, injected substances and tight undergarments are all in the same general category of achieving more edgy looks.  Even in the animal world, there are natural augments: colour changes during mating season, feathers, horns, manes, scents. If we go back to primitive times, Man used various dyes, accessories and even bodily harm to adhere to tribal status mores. In this day, however, a time of being very careful to maintain what we have of our natural environment, hoping it to recoup losses, we have never had access to or employed such lengths to change what we look like.  Everyone I know, wants to change something about themselves. We reduce fat, use colour on various parts of our bodies, shave hair off, add hair on, inject things to get rid of the fearsome wrinkle effect and spend far too much on draping ourselves with fabrics. We accept these without thinking. There is not a magazine that doesn't show something on its pages about changes you can purchase. We don't question why. But why? Why can't we get up in the morning, wash, throw on something loose and comfortable and go about without taking all kinds of time to change the real us? What happened to "I'm okay, you're okay"?

Game Playing

Everyone plays games, be they active, passive or sedentary.  The active ones are those where a lot of running about making sure that something goes into a certain place for scoring to happen. There is body on body taking place and much perspiration. The passive kind is when you sit with something drinkable in your right hand, if you are so inclined, and something else edible, in the left one while watching others do the fore-mentioned running about. Notwithstanding fishing or television poker.  The third kind of game is when people sit at a table, usually, and use their hands and their minds to try and win in lighthearted company. All of these games are meant to be fun events and socializing things to do. They are supposed to be pleasant, lightly competitive gatherings in which one is not working or studying or tending to somebody else's needs. There are other games that are serious, momentous, complicated and often commercial ones, where the players are paid and reputations, sometimes of nations, are at stake. The Olympics or any other game that people pay to attend or make money from, are in that category but they are really more entertainments than games. The people who play the fun games sometimes erroneously think they are not of the former type, but of the latter. To this kind of individual, a little quiet game of cards becomes blood sport. They have to win or they are thrown into misery. If you have been victimized by one of these folks, you know what I speak of. Ordinarily they are lovely people with kind hearts and generous spirits, but when they play a game, they morph into human bullies. They play to win, and to win only. If their fellow players risk being their partners, they'd better toe the mark, or there are snide remarks, groans and gnashings of teeth. This person usually spends eons of time learning all about the game and playing it repeatedly making it more a profession than mere fun, and if you are unfortunate enough to have to play with this kind of creature, you'd better wear armor. During a lovely relaxing cruise to Hawaii once, we had, at our dinner table, a gentleman who spent the entire meal ranting about his "stupid" partner in Bridge, the one who ruined all of his ship-board games. "If only he'd..." and "why didn't he..." and "what on earth was he thinking when.." became the topic of his conversation daily. None of us at the dining table, even the Bridge players present, really cared a whiff about it, and eventually he sulked off to eat alone with his dejected ego in tow. My own mother, an avid Bingo player, took that game seriously. If she did not come away with some winnings in her pocket, it was because "They must have cheated". It ruined her evening of Lawrence Whelk, to be sure, if she had not won. I know golfers who lapse into deep depression when their handicap falls. It isn't their fault, they just need new clubs. And they go out and get them. I can become very intense when it comes to getting a nice high cheesecake out of the oven, but not over a game.

Taking The Big Test

In the "why not" department, I propose that our medical system give everyone willing, an included general MRI or some other complete body view scope of one's physical condition on a determined, scheduled basis throughout their life. I don't know at what stage this procedure could be done, but, I suppose, at various points in adult life. At present, I think it costs about two thousand dollars to have a full MRI or such view. But the costs of treating cancers and tests associated with finding out diseases in people, must be just as high or higher than regular MRIs would be in order to offer early treatment. Having absolutely no medical knowledge about what I am saying, it seems to make sense to me the ignorant tax payer. The test could perhaps be done at intervals throughout one's life to pick up any sneaky bad thing that might invade. Tumors and other potential problems could perhaps then be dealt with, should the individual choose to go that route. We're dealing with the choice to die  dilemma at present, therefore, this move could be the next one? Each time I go to the doctor, which is as little as possible, I am pressured gently to take the blood test I have been avoiding for so long. I am told that while I enjoy good health, the test may help me continue my good luck at this venerable age. So far, I have avoided the issue for the last year but I carry the order form for a blood test in my purse nevertheless. My conscience tells me to do what the doctor orders, even though my spirit tells me not to stir things up. I do not want to find trouble. Often times a blood test indicates a slight rise in glucose levels and then the diabetes talk emerges. Someone close to me, had a blood test and his glucose levels were up a bit. Paying attention to the matter, saw us attending a diabetic clinic to begin a regimen designed to prevent diabetes. Daily exercise was proved to be helpful in reducing sugar levels and a change in diet in which sugars are avoided and all sorts of other nice foods put on the restricted list. We purchased a little testing device that punched holes in a digit to extract a bit of blood so that the small screen showed exactly your "level". All this was done religiously, but diabetes came on anyway and eventually turned into what was actually pancreatic cancer and ultimately, death. I don't want to become morbid but I wonder if an MRI would have picked up the cancerous tumor on the pancreas in its very early stages and thus been extracted and treatments began, rather than waiting the two or three years for it to develop and found out. Just asking. Sometimes cancer sneaks in and by the time it's detected, it's too late to do much about. Pancreatic cancer is very sneaky that way. That's why I propose that, instead of a bunch of blood tests for no reason and fiddling around with little biopsies here and there and waiting weeks for results and then another whole lot of weeks for surgeries and other tests and treatments, we don't just short-cut the whole thing and do some medical detective work such as full MRIs before the finish line?

Go Back Anyway

Just read a new, beautifully written novel called  If I Forget You by Thomas Christopher Greene who lives in Vermont. For those of you "of an age" whether man or woman, it's a kind of inspiration. Words such as "beautifully written" and "inspiration" are undeniably weak, but they are honest. This book makes one think back to your old love, that one you always wondered about, the one you reminisce over.  This tale is about a young couple, very much in love, very much separated socio-economically, as the saying goes, but their relationship just prior to college, is of permanent quality. Of course, fiction pairs up impossible lovers so to cause the story to resonate, and this one is no different. The author claims it to be non-autobiographical but I wonder. There needs to be some sort of tension to hold a reader and this book does it in a Casablanca-style theme. The book resonated with me because I am one of those people, and there are legions, who, for some reason, hold loves for a lifetime. None of those I ever loved, escaped me even if the romance was only a fantasy. Many of you know exactly what I mean. When you were young, I am old now, like me, you loved someone and then life got in the way and you lost that person over the years. If you were as fortunate as I am, in meeting that love again much later, you will fully understand. As in the book, finding and managing that "old" love, can have its downside. In my story, death claimed happiness but in this one, the downside is that the couple meets again but one is married and the other, not. It's an age-old dilemma. Does one harm the innocent to pick up the old love again or is it best to walk away and be sad to lose what you have wanted all your life? It happens that there are choices you have to make, and the novel clearly points this out. In the tale, the marriage of one lover, was not a good one but it did owe loyalties. And there would be hurt. The choices were hard but to make a perfect choice sometimes it's necessary to try it on first, to try both avenues to see which one makes the most sense and hope you can turn back again if you err. One party will hurt and be hurt in the process but love is a very strong and permanent  a thing, and can't be driven merely by what is morally right or wrong, no matter how moral one is. Judgments have to be made by one's actions but there is no true right or wrong. Love is all, and it wins no matter what the outcome. The book has the couple rejoining in their latter years and their joy is finding the "right" one that is unfortunately  not the correct one. There is a happy ending and a satisfying one, but not all tales in real life end that way. I guess the lesson is to at least try to find that long lost love and then, see how it goes. But be brave and strong and remember that you have only one life. Go back anyway.