Grave-ity

 Graves are a respectful way of  returning the dead person to earth. The form could be in ashes or bodily, but in some way, we shall all eventually, turn again, into the substances of which we were formed physically. And we are all going to do that in whatever manner it is, for us, to happen. It will depend upon those who deal with our bodies when we die. We have no true rights beyond our human life. To some, this fact is highly important while to others, it has no deep meaning that they have lived at all while at the same time, have given their contribution to life on earth as best they could. Some are buried in the ground in various ways. Those interred in this manner along with others who are first cremated and then buried, gives those remaining a place to visit if that is their wish. Some graves by choice, are marked and some are not. It depends upon the wishes or the situation at the time of death. In some cultures historically and perhaps today, bodies are left in a natural environment, thus being returned to earth in that manner. Sometimes the dead are buried in a special place along with many others of their belief. There are people who prefer their bodies after death to be cremated and strewn in a place of their choice or that of their people and in whatever way that group does it. It is entirely left to those remaining to dispose, in a respectful way, of the remains of their loved ones or their charges, to carry out this human "rite". Historically, the disposal of those who died, is much varied and often surprising. In one culture, those who could manage the cost, were entombed in very elaborate ways and their grave markers are much visited wonders of the engineering genius of their times. Today, remains and their after death treatment are widely optional. The dying often chose, now, to return to earth in a more realistic manner as without ceremony or physical rites  while others prefer to have elaborate memorial events and markers. Even the word for dying has many forms. Dealing with death and the after ceremonies, is the most complex of human mores. Often the very word "dead" is so terribly abhorrent to some, that other, more comfortable words are used. "Passing on", "A Loss", "Transition", "Gone", "No Longer With Us", "To The Maker", "Returned To Earth",  and many more. They all mean the permanent physical state, as we know it, of death. And "dead" is not horrific because it is an undeniable truth.  But as said previously, the word "truth" is rather flexible, and there is always "freedom of speech" or thought, in framing the verbal actuality of death in many ways. Usually, some kind of marker is made or styled or situated to honour the individual who died. It is not necessary to have a marker if that is the style at the time of death because for most people their life is forgotten in three or four generations no matter how hard it seems. Some choose to make elaborate family trees so ensure that their "line" is remembered. Others choose to be forgotten without ceremony.  Long ago and even now, some memorials are very elaborate. Statues are made, stone markers are carved and embellished to last centuries, portraits, tapestries, stained glass, pyramids and niches, garden shrines or fountains or wall memorials are made as places to visit and remember those no longer alive. Every life, however simple or grand, contributes an importance to our earthly history. Death, one of the most difficult of actualities easily to understand, will always be the biggest challenge of life.

Ad Waste

 Advertising should be considered garbage unless it meets standards that make sense. An ad is supposed to give information that encourages the consumer to buy one product over others. Once that information is given, for a couple of days, "we do GET it". There is no need to repeatedly yell or flash colours or employ dramatics and spend huge amounts of money to convince buyers. They crave only product information. And briefly. The consumer isn't stupid. In the latest gambit, an idiotic and unsafe campaign had a helicopter fly over a city residential area dangling a car over their heads. Apparently, it was in the early morning hours, 5 AM, to be exact, and was louder than any machine racket such as the lazy leaf blower crowd. I rise early so it wouldn't bother me, but bylaws are bylaws. Aren't they? The advertising that I hate is the kind that comes before every tiny film clip contained in news articles. I would like to tell the advertisers that I, for one, turn off their sound and look away until the pesky things are over. I never do know what their names are because I don't look. On me, advertisers are wasting their money  because I make it a point NOT to look at their ads, nor to hear them. I don't care whether they are for The Good or not. I just don't like the interruption to what follows that might be important and /or enjoyable to me. After the multi and mega protestor haranguing on the National broadcasting company that is mainly news from the east and their goings on, I switched to a commercial radio station. Now besides the egotistical announcers who call their programs "shows", and whose interviewing self-assured voices  denote their   wisdom over that of the real experts, I have to suffer ads. It goes with the territory. Most of the ads are childlike blathering, too loud and often just plain lies. Most ads are not cute and funny, they give little information that is truth about their product, and they are nauseatingly repetitive. But there is no other choice if you go to commercial radio stations. What to do?  It's either constant complaints by protestors that go on endlessly with tax payer radio, or enlist in the ad nonsense of commercial radio. Even going onto one's computer, it's ads first, and then the good stuff after.  It is a bit like Cod Liver Oil that some of us suffered during childhood. "Dears, take this spoonful of what's good for you first (and tastes disgusting) and then, you can have your corn flakes. " The local newspaper weeklies are just as bad. The first thing I have to do on retrieving my paper, is dump the thick pile of brightly coloured advertising in the middle, into the bin. The bin is full of them. Even then, the inside pages with their ads of dolled up faces peering at me, their made up mugs and hairdos and cuts and false promises, I might find an article somewhere in the corner, written by a hopeful journalist. I happen to know that the newspaper as it is called, staff, is paid not only to write but likely to clean desks, empty bins, write the obits, sweep the floors and maybe deliver the papers, in order to call what they do "reporting". The reason? Without the ads liberally covering most of the pages along with the "classified" section, the so-called newspaper wouldn't be exist at all. Advertising pays for all the waste paper in the garbage and that's about all it does. Oh yes, there are a few people using the ads in a practical sense. They clip the free-bee coupons for junk food and enter contests.  

What Is Truth?

 Truth is malleable. It can be used for many purposes. Of the many kinds of truth, I see three. The first is "truth" and it's the most flexible one. The second is "the whole truth" and its scope is very wide and rather cumbersome because sometimes only parts of it are used while others stay hidden away. The third and least used truth, is the "bare truth". Quotation marks aside, the latter, the bare truth,  is the most difficult one both to say or use. It's not pretty and it's brutal at times and it's embarrassing and unpopular and hated and loved and respected and disrespected. The descriptions can go on and on. Bare truth tells it "like it is" with no decoration or side lies or pandering or colouring or affectation or politics.  It is very seldom used by most people unless only with those closest and those who will keep it close. It is almost never used by the media mostly because it is not popular and sometimes it is illegal. But it doesn't go away. It's a kind of unspoken truth not just because it is illegal to speak it, but also because it's the hardest one to use and/or admit. It is often thought but not spoken, felt and not used. Everyone knows it's there and what it is and why it must not be said. But it remains. How does one get to the bare truth when it needs to be spoken but is tidily set aside and its cohorts, the simple truth or the whole truth are used instead? Asking the most difficult of the journalistic Ws is WHY. "Why" has all the answers but again, the answers can be manipulated and very often are. It is a strange fact that we all know the bare truth but we dare not speak it because the legal and social and popular "axe" will fall and when it does, there are consequences for speaking the bare truth that everyone knows. More and more, truth is becoming a legal form in our society. Even asking the question "why" could be incorrect and sometimes even illegal. The term "politically correct" doesn't mean that the truth is not true. It means that you cannot speak it for fear of being told it isn't the truth. Or perhaps its truth is not legal to speak even though it's true.  It seems that truth as it once was, is no longer truth at all. It is so bent and shaped and used and misinterpreted that it is no longer truth. Truth is a sham, a loose dangling thing that swings in whatever way the wind is blowing at the time. What is called "truth" is only part of it, not all or the whole truth but only a bit that works for whatever job the teller wants it used for. Truth is a tool that can shape and mold and change however the one using it, wishes it to work. So how do we get to the truth, the whole truth, the bare truth. Since we all know the bare truth that is illegal, it must stay inside and live imprisoned and only be aired when it is safe and where it is safe, and with whom it is safe. Bare truth has become the underground truth. Therein lies a danger of it not being spoken. Today it must not be spoken and it is not welcome. But remains imprisoned in the minds. We all know it and see it, just as we do  the great ape in the zoo, that stares back at us wanting to be set free, but lives behind the glass wall, waiting. 

Bathroom Gym

 When you are fortunate enough to reach a rather grand old age, your joints need a regular workout. I don't mean the kind that forces you to join a gym and wear silly tights or sit on a piece of metal equipment and spin away to boredom or adopt a kind of exotic religious aspect to mere stretching. I mean using your own bathroom every morning for about twenty minutes to give those muscles and joints a bit of a wake up call. You don't need to rush out and buy an exercise outfit. Your own skin is much better - and freer. There is no social aspect to these exercises. It's just you and me Baby. Here we go. First make sure the cabinet doors and other sticking out hazards are not there. Whacking your arms or hands or feet is not part of the fun. First loosen up and wobble everything on your body, wiggle and jiggle and toss your arms and legs about a little. Next stand in front of the counter top or wash basin. Hold the edge for balance, and let your neck slowly go round and round, up and own gently. Do not force any of your joints or muscles and if you have a radio with some pleasant music, turn it on. Snap, crackle and pop. Let music be your medicine. Hold your hands high over your head  and bend slowly from side to side for a few counts. You can build as you go.  Next rotate your shoulders forward for a few counts and then back for more counts. Get that little ball joint smooth again. Stand straight and without moving your hips, elbows up and twist from side to side and then tip bend from side to side. Do this for as many counts as  you feel seem to loosen you up. Grasp the basin or counter edge and with your body straight in  a forward push up position, bend toward the faucets and then back. Keep your frame straight. These are basin push ups. Do them safely with your feet  planted securely behind you. No slipping please.  Next, holding the basin edge, swivel your hips around and around as though you are cleaning out the last bit of whipped cream from a big bowl. First go one way and then the other. I say counts, because I began with very few and worked my way up. It's fun to note your progress.  Always go gently. You aren't being yelled at by a personal trainer, you're in your own bathroom and you can enjoy doing it your way. No drill sergeants here. Now raise your knee up forward as high as you can. Lift and down. Lift and down, first one leg and then the other. Do some counts. Now lift , bent knee out to the side and down. Do each leg. When finished, bend forward and like a figure skater, lift your leg backwards but keep it bent as you lift. You'll feel this in your seat and that's good. Those hip joints beg for exercise to limber up. Be gentle always, and keep your hand on the basin for safety. No one is watching. Doing these exercises in your own skin only is best. Stand, turn holding the basin, let your lower leg swing around in big circles to the right and later to the left. Do it with each leg. Next do the same, twist with your ankles. Feels good. Right? I don't try to touch my toes but if you want to do a few bends as far as you can, okay. Never force your body. Now you are ready to get into the shower or bath and enjoy a day with joints that are much more ready to cooperate.

Stop The World

 An old song, Stop The World I Wanna Get Off is my theme these days. Okay, I am one of those turkeys who likes to put her head in the sand if I may mangle a saying. When I listen to morning radio or read the headlines or browse the 'net for some news, it's nothing but a load of negativism. Sorry, I am one of those average jokers who can take only so much, even though I am entirely in sympathy. Usually, when tragedy or the horrors of how some humans mistreat others is spoken, I can grasp it, but when there is too much of too much, a person my stage needs a time space to deal with it emotionally. I need time to think it all out and consider and ponder and weigh, and then come up with how I really feel. To deny this, would be a lie. There are times when I wish I could jump in there and yell and scream and rant and weep, but that's not what works or how I do it. Time allows me, and perhaps others, a cooling period in order to handle a sense of what implications could arise and how the problems could be fixed, if at all, or what I personally can do to help the situation. In these times of global interaction, and the ease of being a world conscious citizen, it is a huge responsibility. It's not to be taken lightly even by the most fragile individual. Everyone has to dig deeply into one's own being and construct, to fully examine world and local issues that surface and are in-your-face things that are important because each and every person is important. When you are of an age, as I am, you have seen all kinds of horrible happenings from World War Two onward. You've seen younger wars, some useless and that slaughtered the young and best from various countries to the stand-by innocent who couldn't escape. You know what's bad, and what was thought to be okay, but is now very bad. What has been and is, is a big burden to carry and to handle. When you are young and see only the wrong with nothing to compare it with, you might not have to deal with the mixed feelings of someone aged who was told everything was right when it was all wrong. The revelation needs understanding and pacing and sorting through, to fully grasp the whole. It didn't come through television pictures and stories that are published day to day. Many of the realities were hidden for decades and now, suddenly, they're crashing into your, once thought to be, perfect life. The news reporters, the ambitious ones, who trust nothing and no one, but dig and dig until they find something bad are are needed and doing their job, but when information bombs explode in your face, it's a little harder to comprehend, right or wrong. A wrong is a wrong and not right, that's a given. But when you are one who saw the world differently for a long time, and was told differently, you cannot suddenly accept truths and realities immediately. Shock is likely the best term to describe how it feels. The new realities are real and true, no argument there. But being able to pick them up and really feel them, takes a bit of time. And they say, time heals. It doesn't cure but I do think, it does heal. And there's a lot to heal these days. 

New Widow's Need

 Widows, especially older ones, are faced with many challenges and they aren't always what you think. Sure, it would be nice to have Prince Charming trot in on his steed but Princes are hard to find when you're over a certain age. First of all, there is the old saying about acquiring a man: "purse or nurse" and it is very true. Second of all, old men think they prefer younger females. Not to worry.The first male with intentions, who comes along doesn't always pan out to be what you think. But practically speaking, living alone doesn't mean that you can't do just about anything around the house or a "place" that a man can. A friend of mine was reduced to tears when she couldn't get a new floor fan out of a box. Suddenly, overnight, you must be able to get that jar lid off, change the light bulbs and take out the garbage. And don't ask family or other men and become a terrible nuisance. No personal reward in that! You soon find that tears don't work, even though they make you feel better momentarily. After getting a grip on yourself get a gripper for jar lids in the kitchen and one like the "old folks" had, called a grabber, that reaches into high or narrow spaces that you can't. I had a sock that fell behind the washer and this was a quick way to extricate it. If all my advice makes you feel antiquated, forget it. Pride is nice, but of no practical use whatsoever.  Next tool is a safe step ladder that is sturdy and has at least enough steps for you to reach a light bulb. If you live in a place with stupid high ceilings that eat up money on heating, find a Handy Person Helper who doesn't come with a fancy truck and uniform. They cost a lot. Ask around and you'll find one you can trust and not have to pay an arm and a leg for. One of them I called, had a broken arm and no tools. He asked me if he could borrow mine. I have a perfect one now, who does other jobs but is worth waiting for. He can fix anything. But it costs. Buy a cart of some kind for when the delivery person leaves that huge box with one tiny item inside, outside your door.  The cart or trolley should be one that folds away and is versatile. You can go on line or prowl around hardware stores to find it. Always try these things out and don't be afraid to develop the habit of asking a lot of questions. There are unscrupulous types out there who can see a widow coming. Get used to it. The trolley must accommodate garbage bins, hallways, doorways, elevators and sometimes a few steps. No need to spend a lot. Do try it out. Prepare a box of good quality tools. You will need an adjustable wrench, a pair of pliers (I use mine for champagne corks at times), a screwdriver with many heads in the handle, a sharp utility knife, a small saw, a light but strong hammer, a folding measuring tape, scissors that will cut through a wire, duct tape, good wood glue, a few nails and screws ( ask about dry wall screws),  big tin of WD40 and a large sack of patience.  Go on line for fixing things the easy way and browse. But your best tool, is a sense of humour for when things go awry. Shed the tears and go for the laughter instead.  Surprising what you can do all by yourself!

Free Ha Ha

 Used to be in the "old" days of searching for information on the 'net, you keyed in what you wanted to find and there it was.  A-click-away was the word. No more. Today, while trying to locate  information on  attaching an exercise resistance cord to a door, I landed on pages of ads to buy them. It seems, now, that when you search online, it's much like reading your newspaper. All ads but for odd random bits of terse reporting. The wee instruction manual the size of a large postage stamp, showed pictures of a muscular male in action with a cord. I heard that resistance band exercise is the best kind for those in my age category and I bought one to give it a try. Experts on exercising for my age group, recommend, not aerobics or quick walking or stretching but, surprisingly, resistance routines. That made sense to me since all of the others cause pain and I am not a fan of the old silly: "no pain, no gain". It's false. Pain is the body's warning. While aficionados in their bright little latex suits and hard little frames deny that fact, they are not of my age set. Those of us living over the hill, know better than to listen to skinny people who are half our age, degrees or not. We have nothing to lose but time, and we don't want to spend it in pain. We have  patience for repetition and routine, but no thanks to difficulties of any kind that hurt. Been there, done with that.  Back to the resistance cord door application. After giving up searching on the lengthy pages of ads for something I already had in hand eager to begin, I did spot near the end of one ad, a very brief instruction . It was on putting the little bit of stretchy material that came with the cord and handles, into the door frame. I chose the entrance door for this experiment and duly, tucked the little swatch of elastic with its mysterious small cannon ball inside, into the open door frame. I did it quietly because I live in a condo and people unlike me, the early riser, want to sleep until noon.  For some reason even though they are sleeping their lives away while the sun shines outside.  But the need to be active as recommended by everyone I know, causes me to get up early, take a bit of a nap midday and see the stars come out at night. It was seven thirty AM. I put the bit of elastic and small cannon ball into the door frame and, as instructed, shut the door. It's a hefty hallway door. An explosion akin to a cannon, itself, occurred. I am sure everyone in the floor I live on, heard it. All I can hope for is that there will be no fractures reported and no eviction notice presented. Back to the resistance cord attaching matter. It was unsuccessful and not to be repeated. The little cannon ball inside the elastic is no longer in one piece after following the instructions given.  I may the attaching of the cord, again later, after my first cup of coffee, honey and whipped cream. But later after listening to bird song on my deck and praying the phone won't start ringing, I may, in future, restrict myself to using the cord with feet or arms. Anything but a door.