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Memoirs of a  Geezer! Reflections and Observations  -- A Bright Passage from the Fantasies of Youth  ...

Friday, July 8, 2022

"The Nomination is the Award!..." (subtitle) The Curse of Ageism, and What Geezers Face when Discarded, Ignored and Diminished by Society!

 

Memoirs of a Geezer

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


This Episode:          "The Nomination is the Award!..." 
                       (subtitle) 
                       The Curse of Ageism, and What Geezers Face
                       when Discarded, Ignored and Diminished by Society!


Can't readily recall where I originally heard the expression, the one used as the main title of this posting.  It seems apt, however, for those who did not have the great honor of rising, somewhat stunned, walking up to the awards presentation stage to be handed the top prize...    but who, nonetheless, were so honored by their peers, one of a just a chosen few...  not blessed with ultimate victory, perhaps, but at least...   nominated, even though steeped in GeezerHood, considered to be out of date, obsolete!

The new book that I was privileged to write and have published is entitled, Making a U-Turn in the Gig Economy.  SweetHeart helped a great deal by contributing excellent topic ideas and editing skill.  Our wonderful granddaughter, Lucy, created all but one of the gorgeous, cartoon-like illustrations.  Younger granddaughter, PhiPhi, drew one picture, and that, too, is featured toward the end of the book's content.

It's somewhat like a serendipitous find while walking in the park, for example, when a large denomination note of currency suddenly and completely unexpectedly appears at your feet.  You stop and pick it up, discovering that it's real.  You stuff it in your pocket, and there it seems to grow, even glow, as if emanating stars and sparkles and bright colors, and you begin to levitate, in a way; you lose yourself in pleasing thoughts of using that find to perfect advantage....

But I digress a bit.  I seem to do that frequently...  The Book...   When SweetHeart and I
discovered a large crack in our "Nest Egg," we knew we had to find new means of generating income.  At a certain advanced age, one finds oneself, sadly, a victim of Ageism and irrelevance.  It matters little how brilliantly you may have performed in your professional life, how many awards and accolades you received along the way.

When we reach a certain age, we become mere labels...   "Seniors," "Elderly," past our prime.  The perception among the young -- to those of us no longer in the bloom of youth -- is like a scar or a poison pen letter or a false accusation or a striped prison tunic with a large number sewn onto its chest position...  A stigma, like a contagious disease, like a toxin.

In spite of brilliant Curricula Vitae (CVs), endless job searches, want ads, internet career sites and too much more, all pursued exhaustedly, we, the "Geezer Set," are rejected, abandoned, ignored and forgotten, like so much detritus cast onto curb sides and rubbish heaps...    So what then? 

We swallow our pride, accept reality and the "career paths" available to us.  In our case, food delivery driving, using our own vehicle on our own schedule.  No base salary, no insurance, no promise of an IRA or a pension or a so-called "golden parachute." 

But then...   like a kind of curative drug, a precious discovery, the great and glorious career has its joyful moments, a kind of re-awakening, and thus we decide to write a book, chronicling our experiences and adventures, the fun and the funny, the enriching and educative moments, the voyage into uncharted seas.  We begin collecting tales, writing down the memories, the rewards and the pains, after five or six years of picking up and delivering food to those who harvest their sustenance from smart phones and the "Applications" loaded into their complex circuitry.  We have something to say, something rare, something relevant and important!

The results, both unexpected and gratifying, can make the joys and the miseries seem almost worthwhile, worth the time and the travel, the mileage, the aging, unbent limbs locked into position in what seems a perpetual motion contrivance, and the costs of fuel and the setbacks and the wasted time and motion that so often come with the territory. 

Again, the unexpected!  We're invited to conduct a class via a university's continuing education program for older adults.  We've been invited to discuss the book before a large and erudite group, a book club, one populated by intelligent and well-read members.  Both events would center on our book, and the gig economy generally.  The former may be cancelled due to low registrations, but it's the nomination that counts, that lingers in memory like a sunlit day at the beach with crusty bread, ripe fruit, cool drinks and sugary treats.  

But then my thoughts return to the potential audience, and whether anyone who lives in
well-to-do neighborhoods has ever had an occasion to be mired of necessity in the gig economy.  There are exceptions, of course.  And, it's summer...  People tend to remove themselves from tedium, travel on holidays to pleasant, sunny and summery environs, and try to recall what it was like to be young and carefree.   Many are buoyed by strong spirits and mugs of cold beer, but like the holiday itself, a kind of phantom, ephemeral, gone like the fading of a dream.

But inside our heads, in our minds' eyes and memory, the things that cannot be removed or erased (save the devastation of dementia, of course), we can savor.   What used to be or perhaps what might have been, and we can lose ourselves in the joy of knowing we were awarded the nomination.  And we'll always have those triumphs, successes, our trophies and our victories.  Those thoughts, those ideas, are locked inside our psychic vaults forever...  or until we're dead!   

(Special Note:    Making a U-Turn in the Gig Economy is available through Amazon.com, as a Kindle, a Hard Cover version and as a Paperback.  One can also purchase the book at a somewhat modest cost directly from the author...   joelkrio@gmail.com...   Thank You!)

[ 2.  The perpetrator dedicates this posting to SweetHeart for her precious and indispensable partnership, support, superb ideas, her editing skills.  In addition, we dedicate this writing to Lucy, without whose gorgeous illustrations, the book would not be the literary and aesthetic jewel that it is!  Readers are welcome to judge for themselves, of course!  "Jewel" may be considered by some to be somewhat hyperbolic!  (But probably not!) ]    



  

          

    






Sunday, March 27, 2022

A Fateful Right Turn...

 

Memoirs of a Geezer

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


This Episode:         A Fateful Right Turn...

(Author's Note:   This posting is a fable, mostly...  sort of!  It is not about the usual perpetrator, but about an old chum who told outrageous tales, and engaged in equally outrageous behavior.  This is one of his highly polished tales, undoubtedly containing more than a bit of hyperbole.  Nevertheless, I found it and still find it somewhat amusing.  And, who knows, maybe it's all true??!!  I'd contact him in an effort to verify its authenticity, but he's dead!  The story is told in first person narration style, as told to the perpetrator!) 


I'm cruising in my ancient roadster.   It's peaceful.  No radio, windows closed.  I make a right turn.  I continue to drive.  A siren screams just behind my assaulted ears, an explosion of highly unpleasant racket, like a screech owl swallowed a tweeter!  The rear window is flooded with red and blue ink, an other-worldly atmosphere, as if I've been transported to a red planet.  My breathing becomes labored and I expect to see oddly-shaped creatures made of smelly cheese and bumpy green lumpy edibles.  

I pull over.  A uniformed police person appears at my window.  He motions I should roll it down.  I push a still-working button instead.

"Good day, sir.  You know you just executed a right turn without using a proper turn signal, or an arm signal.   Either would have been acceptable."

"I forget how to do them arm signals," I say, attempting a bit of comic relief, to lighten the police guy's potential anger or nastiness.  "I'm just a peaceful Geezer trying to enjoy a quiet day motoring on the streets...  You don't have to call me sir.  I'm just a simple sort of chap..."  

"It's not legal to execute a right turn without signaling your intention to do so!"

"Now see here, office sir,  I'm drinking...  and I'm driving with my knee, holding onto hot soup so it won't slop, securing a box of blintzes with sour cream, cole shaw...  Also too I'm trying to smoke a fat Havana.  I got two hands only, both pretty much occupied.  I can't do everything..."

"Sir, are you trying to be funny?!  Let me have your driving license."  I hand over the license.  

"That's me before my operation," I say pointing to the grainy photo.  I also point to the part that reads, "Veteran"...   "I'm a veteran, Ossifer, do you give citational-fine discounts to veterans?"

"You say you're drinking and driving?  You've been drinking alcohol while driving?!"

"I used to drink boozy stuff, often imported beer when I drive.  I used to like stout and other dark brews.  German stuff.  What's your poison?  Gin, vodka, cheap whiskey?"  

"Don't be impertinent," the officer says commandingly, agitation dribbing from his tone.

I continue.  "Now it's just coffee or green tee, sometimes charged water, bubbly stuff.  I been a drunkard-free former drunk for lotta years now, man, dude, bro....  Do you prefer one over another?  Also too, I got prostate issues so I'm laying off the diet brown pop.  You got any prostate trouble?  How often do you have sex with the missus, or maybe without.  I read that frequent such activity is good for prostate health."

"Step out of the vehicle, sir," he announces, bellowing and belching irritably.  I suspect he's real angry.  

"I'd rather not," I say.  "I gotta go potty real bad, and any extraneous movement may trigger a disgrace.  Couldn't we just have a nice chat?  You outside there, me seated comfortably in my vehicle?  You could come inside, passenger chair.  Heater still works...  

"Look here, young ossifer, my pater was a luminary in law enforcement circles.  A decorated Federal Agent guy.  He got a medal and a certificate and even a phone call from J. Edgar.  He, my pater, captured Nazis, bank robbers, murderous pig swines, too.  (No offense, I add trying for "sotto voce," like, but he hears...).  Who's your police chief?  Probably my dear old pater knew him, taught him FBI stuff like how to investigate them nasty scofflaws and felonious nasties, such like!"  

"I see in looking at your name here on your driving ticket what your family name is.  Your first name is...   Oh yes, I see that too... (odd name, what...)  I've heard of your, um, pa..., I mean, your illustrious father.  I should still cite you for the illegal right turn, however, not to mention your impertinence...  You should speak to an officer of the law with more respect, not to mention sexual innuendo..."

"I won't mention it if you won't...  See here, now, young police official, look around.  There's no other vehicles in the vicinity.  No cars.  No delivery vans or big trucks.  I mean, what's the harm in forgetting to signal a right turn when there's no persons, no other vehicles for miles around?  How about this, why don't you follow me for a bit.  I'll make a left turn using both my electronical signaling stick and I'll hang my left arm out the window, straight like.  You know, a doubly executed proper left turn, like.  Real safe!"

"No need for that.  But in future, use your turn signal or an arm signal."  He hands back the driving license.  "You be careful, now, and have a nice day."

I motor off, careful to use the turn signal stick as I edge from the curb.  "I'll have whatever kind of day I choose to have, nice or otherwise," I state inside the privacy of my motor car.  "I may endeavor to have a really crap day if I want...  Don't know how that young police guy could have snuck up behind me so surreptitiously, the sneaky little poop nose."  I light up a joint and pop open a can of Schlitz.  

(Please Note:   Just to repeat, and to re-emphasize, this story isn't about the perpetrator, but rather about an old acquaintance who frequently misbehaved, including when engaged in motor-vehicular traffic activity.  He often told amusing stories to fascinated listeners.  He should have written them down for posterity, I think!  He did not, so someone had to!  Tak.)

Humbly Submitted 07-27-2022 -- Joel 

     









Wednesday, March 23, 2022

Crazy App... Lazy App...

 

Memoirs of a Geezer

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


This Episode:         Crazy App...  Lazy App...



At the speed of something, not light, or sound, possibly the "speed of ideas" coursing through a creative mind, and then pausing at a Eureka 
millisecond-moment,  technology tends to confound, confuse and dent a Geezer's brain.  The speed of it, the collision of techno marvels onto an aging psyche...  It's all too bewildering.

Consider, for example, the smartphone, its profusion of "applications, or "Apps," in the vernacular of today's wunderkinds and their endless inventions that in a blink supplant those of others mere microseconds past!  

"Wait a second," I muse.  "What was that wondrous thing I saw in this morning's Chronicle?  What??!!...  Whoa!!??  It's already obsolete??!!...   (Returning to the primary subject matter!)...  Those of us in the tightening vise of GeezerHood who continue to labor on, denizens, more like captives of the "Gig Economy," we have to re-train our brains of necessity, in ongoing efforts to grab hold of and absorb those new, if fleeting flashes of technology.  Otherwise, and only if financial security permits, we may as well retire to the recliner and the hypnotic pulse of the large, flat screen and its relentless pump-streams of pap and pulp.  

The elastic brain!  Do those of us of a certain age continue to enjoy a mind that can in fact function, absorb and decipher the codes of modern society?  Well, yes... maybe, some of us, possibly...  maybe...  When SweetHeart and I ply our current trade as exemplary food delivery drivers, we are compelled to use and understand "Apps."  So what's the problem?...

We're on a delivery with a sense of urgency and purpose.  The app rudely interrupts our trains of thought, or maybe a pleasant conversation.  "In the upcoming right lane, turn left onto Dinglebalm Street..."  

"But," SweetHeart wisely notes, "we're already on the correct route.  The delivery's on this very street, about...  lemme check the map...  a mile and a half from here.  Be Quiet...  stop talking, 'Nellie.' "

 Or the app has us taking an absurdly circuitous route, with the map sometimes acquiescing foolishly, and we know the right way to drive to our destination.  "Just keep going straight," SweetHeart states assuredly.  "Then turn right on Clementine Avenue.  It's the fourth house from the corner, on the left..."  

Sometimes the app insists, "Continue on McFarley for three-quarters of a mile, using all three lanes..."  

"I mean," I say in an attempt at comic interpretation, "is it appropriate for us to weave
in and out of all three lanes of traffic, so that no one but us can use them?  But that seems an obvious invitation to a traffic citation.  Do you see any police cars, SweetHeart?  If
not, I'll start deviating wildly..."

At times the app gets inexplicably lazy!  The mechanical direction-shrieking voice of "Noxious Nellie" refuses to speak to us...  shuts down completely.  It's maddening.  We tend to rely upon "her" for proper, or comic, directions to our destinations.  I opine that Nellie is on a coffee break or off to the ladies' lounge or has possibly swooned over an impossibly handsome artificial intelligence of the male variety.   "Hello!  Nellie!...  Hello!"

SweetHeart walks to the door of a recipient's home.  A foot or so removed from the person who ordered, she hands a sack of food to the customer.  She looks down at the app.  It says, "You are too far away from the delivery."

"If I were any closer I'd be on the customer's toes, our noses making direct contact!  Are you nuts, app?!  I couldn't possibly get any closer!"

Here's a good one:   SweetHeart leaves a sack of East Indian cuisine on a customer's porch.  The instructions clearly state, "Please leave the food at the door."  The app chimes in, "Remember to leave the food in a safe place."  SweetHeart looks around at a busy and well-populated neighborhood.  The food is highly visible on the porch.

"How?" SweetHeart wisely asks.  She rings a bell if there is one, and knocks loudly on the door.  No one responds.  She's done the best she can do.  "What else can I do?" she asks of me, her partner, or rhetorically.  If payment and a tip appear eventually on the
app, we know she's done everything correctly, short of house-breaking or throwing the sack onto a roof and then leaving a crude "treasure map" as to its whereabouts!

Picture-Taking as evidence of a proper delivery:   Rules demand, on many occasions, that SweetHeart take a picture of the food sack in situ, when instructions ask that the delivery be left at the door.  She takes a photograph using her phone and its terribly clever app.  Nothing happens.  "Please take a picture," the app demands after she's taken the picture.  She cannot verify the delivery unless the app acknowledges that she's taken the picture.  "Please take a picture," the app repeats demandingly.  SweetHeart takes a picture of the sidewalk, a dead worm, a flight of wooden steps leading to the porch.  The app responds, allowing SweetHeart to slide the "Complete Delivery" bar to the right!

"In other late-breaking crazy-app news," the imaginary anchor announcer shouts, sounding nearly hysterical and slightly demented!... 
  
App:     "Do you wish to contact the customer?"
SweetHeart:    "I've just delivered the food personally to the recipient customer.  We chatted amiably about weather, porches and the quality of local Thai take-away..."  

App:     "Be alert!  Look both ways before crossing busy intersections!"
SweetHeart:    "What...  You think I'm 6 years old and barely conscious?!"

App:    "Make a U-Turn..."
SweetHeart:    "Don't be silly, Nellie.  I'm already at the customer's door!"

App:    "Doodledly Doot...   Doodeldy Doot..." (New pickup / delivery summons from
global headquarters) -- Pickup from Sheldon's Authentic Real Napolese Pizza Pie Parlor...  Location at 5th and LaughHam, on your left...  

SweetHeart:    (Upon arriving at the app-stated and apparent location!)  "This isn't right!  There's a chain link fence on our left on which we see an acre of litter blown up against it!  Beyond the fence is the Freeway.  We can't pickup a pizza on the Freeway."  (She telephones the pizza parlor, and is correctly informed the location is on South 27th Street just south of Howard Avenue...   miles away from the Freeway address!)   The pizza proprietors are heard consumed in mirth as she rings off... 

One supposes, or perhaps, one confesses, it isn't nice to ridicule a person.  But the app is an inanimate "someone," and Nellie is a mechanical entity, not a real person.  Therefore, a bit of innocent ridicule is entirely appropriate.  One hopes readers can empathize with this non-tribute to Apps and their sometimes...  um, maybe quite often...  absurdities, ridiculous pronouncements and erroneous instructions.  Thank you for your kind attention to this bit of nonsense.  Comments, questions, complaints, (minor, verbal) hostilities and rebuttals always welcome!  

Humbly Submitted 03-24-2022 -- by Joel K.

  










  

    



 

    

 

 







        

   

Thursday, February 17, 2022

That Bowl Thing...

 

Memoirs of a Geezer

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


This Episode:         That Bowl Thing...


The picture shown above is a classic helmet-to-helmet sort
of confrontation icon, sort of, seen often in the 
panoply of professional football images...  like!


 It's a kind of ritual.  We all have them, I suppose...  rituals.  Some are pleasant, even delightful, if spent with family and food, laughter and fun.  Some are purely insipid, like having to listen to the tedious droning of a vapid and vacuous politician...   A certain male senator in our state is a prime example, like a leaf blower at full and obnoxious volume when there are no leaves to be blown!   

There's a point to this lament, or complaint or explanatory narrative:  I prefer college football.  I tend not to be among the rabid devotees of the professional variety.  But, on the Sunday that has a great percentage of the populous anchored to their enormous television screens with bibs on to catch dribbles and drooling, chips and dips and other foodstuff droppings owing to a kind of inattentiveness when eyes are focused primarily on giant screens, I join my family for this particular ritualistic mayhem.

SweetHeart makes her famous and delicious chili, an enormous pool of the stuff, a complete dinner in a pot.  I help by cooking the meat that forms an important component of the stew.  And, I open cans and toss the empties into our recycle bin.  The day is so frenzied that sometimes I feel I'll land straight-jacketed in a bin of a different sort.  But, one has to be strong and brave; one is compelled to participate or one may incur various forms of torment.

On the Sunday in question, our family members watched a team called the "Rams" defeat a team known as the "Bengals."  One would think a tiger should be able to defeat and devour a member of the sheep family.  Apparently that's not how it works in the
Wait a minute!  Are these guys supposed to
be pals?  I mean, why isn't the guy on the
left eating the guy on the right??!!!

violent arena of professional football, bets and predictions, team spirit and hearts' desires notwithstanding! 

I suppose it is fitting that we fill large bowls of chili during the contest...  It's that bowl thing....   Continuity, sort of...   I watch pieces of it, the contest, that is, but spend most of my time talking nonsense or interacting with my much-loved children, grandchildren, or wandering around the home of my younger daughter who hosts the ritual annually.   

My eldest grandson is an encyclopedia of films, you know, movies, motion pictures.  We enjoy our conversations, and he reveals names of good films, favored directors and film score composers.  He's quite wonderful, and he actually makes films and scores them himself.  Remarkable talent, he is!

Our younger and also much-loved grandson and his uncle, my beloved son-in-law, spend a bit of preliminary and half-time moments competing in an electronic game we disparagingly term "Hut, Hut, Hut, Doodledy Doo," owing to the strange voice of a
presumed Quarter-of-the-Way Back "artificial intelligence" automaton announcing signals!  (We don't know what the voice really says, but it sounds ike "Doodledy doo..."  Could be some other sort of gibberish?...) 

He, the aforementioned grandson, has a new version of "Hut, Hut..." that he variously identifies as "Madden" or "Hut, Hut... Doodleldy NEW..."  

We enjoy pre-contest stuff, like Charcuterie platters and tasty hors 'doeuvre that both daughters concoct.  For me, these are pleasant diversions, distractions that allow me to remove myself from the pre-game babble, player profiles and re-run snippets of contests past.  I like to wander about, pretending to be interested, seeking other outlets to occupy my brain, such as it is.

And then there's dessert, cookies, ice cream with SweetHeart's homemade chocolate-y fudge-y topping that, when allowed to harden, becomes a delicious fudge, like the kind one might find in a candy shop (or "shoppe," if one prefers that rather overly cute and
fatuous version.).
 Other baked goods from time to time, and depending on who decides to bring what!  

Did I mention dog walking?  Another necessary distraction that removes the walkers from the warmth of home and hearth allowing for an aid to digestion.  We all tend to overly consume, all of the comestibles being so delicious!  A good walk helps to re-locate the consumed stuff into different compartments of the belly, or maybe creates more blubber nodules...  Something like that!  

And consider this:  My brother once lived in a suburb of Cincinnati, but he also lived in Milwaukee, Denver, and now Dallas.  I think he has mixed allegiances!  I mean, it's a bit tricky, isn't it?  Bengals, Cowboys, Broncos, Packers??!!  I wonder if his children had a feet ball jersey sewn from fragments of all four team logo designs?!  Perhaps that's a topic for another time...  and another rant!  
Readers may note that the
helmeted rat boy is also 
a bit perplexed...  
(I mean, isn't loyalty supposed to be sort of exclusive?  Confined only to one team, not four?  This is a ponderous concept...  One needs to give this more thought, maybe an essay...  a manifesto?)

 Um...  One more observation:  As a society, we're obsessed with superlatives.  I mean, "Why 'Super'?" Baseball has the World Series.  Maybe play that "last game of the season" in footsball using the best of seven concept.  Oh, I see, them padded combatants, they'd all be dead or near dead by that time!  It's a Big Money thing, isn't it?!  The more hype the big money guys create, the more money they all make.  Yeah, it's a money thing...    



[A Confession:  If I'm being honest, I do enjoy "That Bowl Thing" ritual.  It's a fine reason to gather with family members, even if the giant television screen is a kind of distraction, roaring and chasing us from other more scholarly pursuits, butting and battering our heads and brains with mayhem and chaotic scenes of people knocking one another about, trying to dismember and maim!  (Is that what's meant by, "Heads will Roll...")  Such fun, aina??!!] 

Humbly Submitted, 02-17-2022 by Joel K.

   

     



     

 

Sunday, January 30, 2022

The Simple Joys of GeezerHood!

 

Memoirs of a Geezer

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


This Episode:              ...The Simple Joys of GeezerHood!

It's like trying to grab hold of the spark of a sun crystal tossed from the white crest of a breaking wave...  Dazzlingly bright, elusive, slippery!  Akin to a dreamy concept of
Retirement!...   Seemingly unattainable, at least at present.  Semi-retirement is, perhaps, a more plausible aim, however, and we cling to its pretense in various forms, cheerfully if, at times, a bit delusionally optimistic.

When free of workday hours, or from caregiving or the joys of being with children and grandchildren, we seize, for example, a certain delightful "Tea Time."  Heading for a favorite coffee house, we order Sport Tea, the extra large variety, with lemon and a quantity of ice that doesn't over-
whelm the tea.  Adding a bit of natural sugar, we seek the waters of Lake Michigan, or those of the confluence of rivers just west of the the huge arcing bridge that aims itself south, or north, depending on one's desired trajectory.

In summer, primarily owing to their greater occupancy (but in fall and winter as well!), we love watching big ships plowing the waters of the Great Lake, or tug boats,
sometimes the ferry.  We tend to sit and relax and sip that delicious sweet tea, equally savoring the scene in front of us, the waves and the palette of ever-shifting colors painted by the sun and the skies.

Among the most enjoyable sights are the St. Mary's Conquest or Challenger, cement-carrying ships that sometimes emerge like giant grey apparitions beside the Breakwater Light.  They inch with agonizingly deliberate slowness into the confluence, turning left as does the Menomonee River, heading for the river-front factory and its dispensing trough.  When filled to capacity, the ships back out of the narrow river, turn past the Light, pivot forward and then cruise to their (mysterious) destination ports on the Great Lakes.  

Wonderful sights.  Beautiful to witness for those of us so inclined and interested.  We're not always alone.  There are others of our ilk who enjoy the spectacle, not always of the GeezerHood variety.  The young are also sometimes in evidence at the water's edge, their eyes following the slow, grey, nearly waveless progress of the ship, whichever is in port at the time of its sighting.

On at least one occasion, hoping to prolong the nautical adventure before us, we hurry to "The Point," park our vehicle facing the Lake Front, and follow the ship's more urgent exit journey as it plows northward or eastward to deliver its viscous cargo, like exceptionally thick grey soup, too long left sitting and hardening in the pot.  Both ships have towering tugs attached like barnacles permanently to their sterns, guiding and steering the big ships into and out of our port with its narrow, meandering waterways.  

At other times, tide and time permitting, we take ourselves in a northerly, followed by a westerly direction to the banks of the river named after our state's largest city.  Prior to landing ourselves at the river's edge, we stop for our golden tea at a suburban oasis serving the same sought-after potions as those of  locations in the City we call home.  
(To be fair, truthful and accurate, we favor two different coffee houses, one for our preferred
This Aint Us!
coffee beverages, the other exclusively serving the sport tea of which we're so fond!)

The River and the park location we discovered a few years back gives us a very different set of spectacles.  An Osprey family that nests high atop a baseball field's "night-game light" --  a family we hope returns to its nest in Spring -- and bufflehead ducks, the black and white variety that dive into rivers and lakes for their dinner, geese and other species of duck, occasionally turtles and other amphibians.  And small furry woodland creatures and white-tail deer.  Nature and a natural setting at its most beautiful and gratifying. 

Such are the Simple Joys...   If we can't actually retire in the relatively near, or distant, future, we can in fact approximate a kind of semi-retirement, in which we can snatch a few restful hours with delicious tea, not necessarily "and sympathy" (if you get the reference!), but glorious nature and so many of its natural denizens, those native to our world and the specific biosphere we're privileged to inhabit. 

(Special Note of Attribution and Dedication:  For SweetHeart, my constant tea-savoring and much-loved partner, who, with me, so enjoys the ship sightings, the beasts, the waters and the flora, the natural settings we long to spy through our binoculars or naked eyes when we can in fact savor a semblance of leisure time, of "semi-retirement"... the Simple Joys of GeezerHood!)  


Humbly Submitted, 01-31-2022 -- by Joel K.