Spending Time Wisely... Pondering Identity, Sometimes Our Own, Sometimes that of Others!

 

Memoirs of a Geezer

  

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:             Spending Time Wisely...  Pondering Identity,

                    Sometimes Our Own, Sometimes that of Others!

Deep in the mists of geezerhood, with all of its obscurity, challenges, wonders and expectations -- ever Closer to surrendering the Illusion of Immortality -- in an effort to escape the clutter and cluster of urban smog and dust-scape, we tend to wander...  Where?  Somewhere!  Anywhere...  perhaps north, sometimes in other directions?!

At the beginning of a recent such brief odyssey, we were delighted to spy two BlueJays, each a buzz of glorious color.  As if the pair -- blurred but unable to conceal themselves entirely -- were speed painting their 

primary hues, spreading then onto the contrasting green of flora, some of it incipient, some in the full explosion of spring beauty and color!  

Heading south toward the river, SweetHeart and I were attempting to discover the oddly narrow stream of what we believed to be a tail of the river and how it joined its larger body.  In the end, thwarted by a power pole and impassible shrubbery, we were compelled to cross to the other side.  To no avail, we could not bend our vision to follow its path and the probable junction of a small thread to a larger skein! 

Having crossed, we found ourselves on a flag-bedecked vision of various contours of field and meadow, a greensward, bordered by vestigial woodlands, still spare, just budding in the nascent burst of early springtime.   

In the clubhouse on that purposely limited expanse of greenery, on which a number of combatants were attempting to strike dimpled white spheres, we donated one such found object to a surprised and grateful young woman about to participate in that very same campaign.  So many of them!   Swinging, striking, missing!  Possibly cursing!  What has happened, I wondered, to American productivity.  "Doesn't anyone work anymore?" Perhaps owing to fear and frustration, a feeling of ennui and hopelessness, the absurdities and lunacy of a political landscape populated by feckless buffoons whose aims and language many fail to fathom, perhaps never will!

Never mind all that.  We move on!  I suppose some would question our own dedication to the betterment of the nation's economic health.  We are old, yes, but we continue to work as much as we're able.  Being older, or historic, as our grandson describes us, we sometimes seize moments when industry fails to beckon, and thus we wander.  Our attempts to find joy in simple pursuits, to spend time in peaceful reflection, visions of wings, the undulating and constant movement of water, gorgeous vistas of green, purple, pink, lavender, sepia, emerald and sage!  Dazzled often by its variety, complexity, beauty and memory!  

Our wanderings do take us, or perhaps lead us inexorably, to destinations comprised of those aforementioned joys, miracles and colors, where ospreys soar and dive and capture

river fish with which to feed their young and themselves.  Until late summer when offspring begin to fledge, testing courage and wing strength, ability and that ancient, instinctively-rediscovered route to winter feeding grounds far to the South. 

We often wish that our forte, our primary bread-winning focus, were educative travel, leading followers to distant shores, exotic cities and towns, to far-away places, fascinating ideas, customs and faces!  (The word "forte" -- by the by -- contains a Silent "E" and is pronounced "Fort," and means one's strength, one's matier, one's principal gift or talent, one's "Thing," so to speak!)

Alas, at least for now, we wander in limited scope and distance, but we can and do dream of greater escapes.  Well, to be honest and accurate, we've both traveled somewhat

extensively, in our distant past -- to France, Spain, Morocco, Italy, Estonia, Turkey, Mexico, Canada, England, Finland -- and to many destinations in our own country.  Mustn't grumble, but still we long to wander further afield, and oftener!  

Meanwhile, we have our Great Lake, the Confluence of Three Rivers, our namesake river and other bodies of water in which big ships plow their way to ports and harbors and depositories.  Many offloading their goods and their essential cargoes from great, cavernous holds, or collecting commodities to ferry to other faraway places, ports and harbors, many great vessels with self-discharging structures aboard, destined for as many ports with enormous collection canyons and conveying contrivances on their shores!

As we steer our course toward oblivion, or a pleasant terminus in the realm of wander, I suppose we do at times tend to consider our own identities.  Who are we, what is our aim or purpose in life?  Do we continuously ponder our identities, what we're intended to do or be.  Our friend, Bill, cares deeply about such inponderables.  We, on the other hand, do not, or usually we do not.  We do, however, care about how to spend our time enjoyably and profitably, meaning profitable in terms of happy enterprise.  And we will, I hope, continue to do so when time and tide enable us to wander leisurely, even aimlessly, through the often bewildering mists of GeezerHood!  

(Special Note of Dedication:   For SweetHeart and all of our good chums and relatives who have been elevated to the status and the state of Wisdom!  I note that aristocrats speak of being "Elevated to the Purple," that is, achieving a position of royalty.  Those of us not of the peerage or royal lineage achieve veneration through the process of aging gracefully, and should therefore be accorded great respect and admiration...  possibly purple garments too!)  

Humbly submitted 05-13-25 -- Joel K.

  

  

 

    

       

 

Disassembly and the Medical Profession!...

Memoirs of a Geezer!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:      Disassembly and the Medical Profession!...

"Where are the Simple Joys of Geezerhood..."  Remember that great tune from the play,

Camelot (...a bit of poetic license here!)?  So?  What's become of those simple joys?  As we reach a venerable age, you know, like genuine Geezerhood, aren't we supposed to be inundated with "simple joys"?  Lots of leisure time... Unremitting respect from the young... Stable health that

would enable us to bask in the warm sunshine of wise maturity, able to enjoy a simpler lifestyle in peace and comfort? Fah!! We're too often treated like swine to the slaughter!   

Here's the problem!  Modern medicine has apparently conspired to cure our ailments by removal, disassembly! Complain about a source of pain and a doctor might remove your spleen, a lung, a bowel or a pancreas or something...  other vital members!! When my father was in his dotage, he started losing his members, meaning toes and other things! I don't wish to make light of our health care industry and the injuries and diseases upon which it must focus, nor to accuse it of disassembling bodily organs for the mere sake of practicing medical disassembly!  However, the medical profession, like any other, requires occasional fun-poking!  

Sadly, it's not all fun and riotous humor. For example, SweetHeart, my best friend and dearest companion was recently diagnosed with a 5 cm mass of carcinoma in her right kidney. Following a biopsy, a stent placed in the connecting ureter and lots of discomfort, all experienced on a Monday and throughout the following three days, she underwent a "procedure" -- meaning surgery, of course -- to remove the affected kidney the following Friday. (Today's medical professionals love to use euphemisms...  e.g.  "Some discomfort"... "a small incision is all that's required"... "Laparoscopic surgery, also called minimally invasive surgery (MIS)"... "Bandaid Surgery"(?!)... There was a bladder scan and a dye-injected full-organ CT scan that preceded the biopsy. For poor SweetHeart, it was all like undergoing a one-person battle against a horde of frenzied barbarians wearing fur-rimmed metal hats on stampeding and snorting horses squirting venomous mucus-covered darts with every gallop!! 

"Whatever it is
that's causing you
discomfort, it has
to come out!!"

We can be thankful in the extreme that some cancers are eminently treatable, even curable, in this modern era of medical science in which we are privileged to live!  SweetHeart, after seeing her GP to determine that blood in the urine was not caused by a Urinary Tract Infection (UTI), was referred to a urologist, a terrific specialist with an excellent reputation in his field.  I should mention that our much loved and outstanding GP has never steered us afoul in the referral department.  (I was seen by a heart specialist, for example, who removed nothing from my anatomy!  Oh...  I did see a gastrointestinal MD who removed my appendix, but only because he was "in there" untwisting a nasty brute of a bowel...  a prime example of expedient medical disassembly!) 

But, who am I to judge or complain. My closest encounter with medical training was occupying a desk in a biology lecture for a, then, dental student friend of mine who had other important matters to which he wanted to attend. The professor frequently looked at me rather askance! I believe he knew me for the interloper I was! However, to my undying gratitude, I learned a few things about streptococci, knowledge forever stored in my personal medical lexicon!! (Sometimes we're truly blessed and don't realize it until much later in life.  Oh, and my friend paid me a dollar!!)

I should also point out that, as a youth, my tonsils were disassembled. I played a good joke on the medical profession on that occasion! My mother was told not to give me anything to eat or drink several hours prior to the "procedure." Unbeknownst to mother, I drank a large glass of milk. Upon having the ether pumped into my small person, I bubbled over, necessitating an emptying and re-application procedure. What a good laugh on the medical guys, eh??!!  

Medicine can be a fertile source of amusement for some. My brothers-in-law for example. SweetHeart and I are in California visiting friends. We lose a wedding ring, convinced it fell into a vent filled with an army of dust rodents and other horribly toxic and hairy stuff. Both of us reached in, holding our noses and breath, but to no avail. Returning home, we noticed our entire bodies covered in red pustules!

SCABIES!! Holy human excrement! Scabies!! I went to see a crack dermatologist, Dermis Bumpimple, MD. I hauled out my most private appendage and attempted to hand it over. He eyed me and my appendage with utter disgust and said, "I'm not touchin' that thing!"  

"But," I stammered, "what about an examination? Don't you have rubber gloves, maybe a medical appendage tongs?" He offered a prescription and ushered us quickly out the door. The story had my brothers-in-law consumed in mirth for hours. On another occasion, returning from a pre-marital holiday in Colorado, I made an appointment with a GP, Dr. Eustus T. Fyreblanks. I had what I described to him as a broken testicle. I displayed the full majesty of my private region. He asked, "How long you had that rash?"

"I don't know," said I, "I've had a history of fungus in that area, like 'athlete's crotch,' " I quipped, trying to add a note of humor to the uncomfortable proceedings.

"Here," he said, handing me a prescription, "spray this on your feet and your crotch'll clear up."  The brothers-in-law were convulsed over that one. I don't recall that we ever actually took care of the broken globule part!! But, I suppose the doctor may have given me a pill or something!

Needless to state, and returning to the more serious nature of this writing, cancer is scary as hell, and we never want any of the people we love having to hear that sort of dire pronouncement from medical doctors. The turn to humor, however, trying to make light of the thing, is a coping mechanism, a device or tool we humans tend to use to some advantage, to remove or at least lessen the fear. To cite an example, I suggested to SweetHeart,

in order to ease the discomfort of having to explain her recent weight loss to a certain party, "Organ removal is not the best means of reducing!" The party of the second part seemed to be put at greater ease, made apparent as she chuckled merrily, if nervously.

In the end, we have to acknowledge that cancer is, for now, an un-arrested thief that steals our parents, much-loved relatives and dear friends, way too many of us, often far too soon, without regard to age or value to those left behind. The big and happy "however" part is the increasing rate at which medical science and we humans generally are able to defeat cancer, at least certain forms of the dreaded thing. For that, we are grateful beyond words!! I've had SweetHeart in my life for more than 50 years; we plan to be together for many, many more to follow, and no snot-nosed slug of a cancer is going to stop us!!!  Thank You.   

(Special Note of Dedication:  The perpetrator dedicates this posting to his Beloved SweetHeart who underwent a major medical procedure with calm acceptance, great dignity and exemplary courage. I hope she'll forgive the tangential digressions, but in the end will know that the essential aim of this writing is to express my growing love and admiration, attempts at humor thrown in just to soften the overall theme. SweetHeart is my ultimate hero!) 

Humbly Submitted 02-06-17 -- Joel K.        

           

          



      

Honesty Can be Harmful to One's Psyche, Possibly!

Memoirs of a Geezer!

Reflections and Observations -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth 

to Illuminations of Advanced Maturity!

This Episode:             Honesty Can be Harmful to One's Psyche, Possibly *!

Children, as most of us who have progressed beyond a certain age know, can be brutally honest.  True, the utter candor of the very young can be amusing, even refreshing at times. Grandchildren, for example, have a way of expressing whatever's in their sweet little heads that can seem a bit offensive, particularly to geezers who may not always value or appreciate total

Papa receives a mighty blow from Grandson
Seany during a slow-motion, mock fist fight!
(Full video available upon request!)

candor.  
Recently, my grandson, Seany, labeled me the "Great, Grey-Haired Sloth."  The reference was not intended to comment on or make an allegation of slovenliness (a sometimes side-car attached to the definition of "slothfulness"), but rather to the relative speed with which I tend to accomplish tasks or offer an explanation or commentary, when asked!  I am often accused by various family members of being rather slow, of having a deficiency in the alacrity department. I repudiate such unwarranted accusations.  I am merely deliberate!  Seany also does an imitation of what he perceives as my "old man walk," in which I'm bent nearly in half and shuffle at the speed of a mile every two or three days or so.  

Our youngest grandchild, a granddaughter, Phi Phi -- she's six years old -- sometimes calls me "a very old man."  (The modifier "very" is really quite unnecessary!)  I suppose that at my current age, the suggestion is not merely a "suggestion" but an accurate statement. It depends on one's definition of "old" in the context of the current average life expectancy of the human species.   

I looked it up.  One of the sites lists average age expectancy by state.  In ours it's 77.8.  By that standard, I'm really quite a youngster, and still have good years ahead if indeed I make it to 77.8.  I wonder, though, if the average male is expected to drop off the "mortal coil" at precisely that age??!!  This is disturbing!  We'd better make plans!! **   ...But I digress...

In the splendid "Age of Geezerhood," I note that grandchildren have a special manner of reminding one that one is considered a creature of another era, such as the Pleistocene Age, or maybe Paleolithic.  Grandson, Coen, in his sweet way once told me that I look or could be maybe 20 years or so younger than I actually am.  Granddaughter, Lucy, feels she can still jump into my arms without causing me back spasms or broken skeletal parts.  Maybe they're just being polite.  All the grandkids might be more inclined to ask, "Hey Papa, did you ever ride a bucking triceratops?...  Rope a troodon?...

I forget!  When did you last skin a mastodon?..."      

Society, given today's apparent attitudes and preoccupation with the young, reflect the ideas about age that little children seem to prefer:  "Old goat," "ancient baboon," "fossil breath," "mollusk mug," "prune face" and other offensive terms the elderly tend not to embrace willingly.  Persons of high school and post-high-school age seem also to harbor a peculiar notion of older adults.  According to many of our younger citizens, an "elder" is practically deceased or nearly there when no longer in the "20-something" category.  But, one must also bear in mind that, prior to age 30 or 35 or so, the two hemispheres of the brain have not yet collided to form a cohesive unit!!

We've numbered the states in the order
in which we'll move there to prolong
our life expectancy!  Thank you!

** Returning, for a moment, to the "...plans" allusion in paragraph four of this fascinating treatise on...  well whatever the hell it's about...  if we move to Vermont we don't have to drop dead until we're 80.5.  We could stay there a few years until the big gong of time sends us packing once again, and then we can move to Hawaii where we won't drop dead until we're 81.3.  This is exciting!  We may have a real plan, here!!    

It has been said, or possibly written somewhere, that interaction with grandchildren and house pets can prolong our lives.  We have both, sort of, a daughter and friends with doggies we can borrow, and grandkids too.  But what about when the grandchildren grow up and maybe move to New York or Philadelphia and begin selling subordinated debentures?!!  Some other lucrative obnoxious career path, possibly??!!  What then? Will we become former human beings right away, deceased creatures, before they even reach Ohio?

The Grandchildren:  Seany, Phia,
Coen, Lucy (fm. l. to r., of course)!

Well, I guess it's better to live for the moment, enjoy the time we have, allow the young to berate and belittle us as we wrinkle and stoop.  Let them have their little jokes at our expense. We should place pictures of goats and wrinkly elephants on our ice boxes...  embrace the "Era of Geezerhood" with joy and pride in our aging hearts!  We're the survivors, after all.  We are the Solomon's, the towering intellects who have attained the wisdom of the ages, repositories of knowledge through longevity and eye bags!!  ...jowls and veiny noses, maybe, too!... 

But on the other hand...  "Sweetheart!  Call the real estate people!  Pack stuff!  We're moving to Hawaii before it's too late!!..."  (What'd I do with that straw suitcase again?...) 

Special Note of Gratitude and Attribution:    The perpetrator dedicates this posting to his beautiful and incomparable grandchildren -- Coen and Lucy, Seany and Phia.  I thank them profusely for keeping us "young" and balanced and focused on the present!  I must also thank our beautiful and incomparable daughters who did their share in providing such superior grandchildren.  And to Sweetheart, who suggested the topic, my continuing gratitude for that and so much more! Finally, I thank Vermont and Hawaii for making it possible for geezers to live longer!  That's all.  

*  A subtle homage to The Lady in the Van! 

      Humbly Submitted 03-16-16 -- Joel K.