Sidewalks

 

I’m an urban boy. I grew up in suburbia with rows of single-family houses that all look alike. Each were on a paved street with curbs with overhead lights. Between the street and the well-groomed lawns is a sidewalk.

A walkway is any type of defined space or pathway for use by a person traveling by foot or using a wheelchair. These may be pedestrian walkways, shared use paths, sidewalks, or roadway shoulders.

The sidewalk was to deliver the pedestrian to a post office, dry good store, mercantile merchant or tavern avoiding the mess made from the horse drawn carriages in the street.

Before anyone had access to an automobile, we walked. For long distance, we took public transportation, but schools and churches and groceries were close enough to walk to and back without total exhaustion.

My friends were within walking distance. Our favorite hang-outs were within walking distance. Before I could ride my bike in the street, I circled the block on the sidewalk.

Though the sidewalk technically belonged to the city, people took pride in sweeping the leaves and shoveling the snow to clear the pathway. Kids could use the sidewalk to play marbles or as a pallet for chalk masterpieces until the rain came.

Could always tell the boundaries of the city for that was where the sidewalk ended. Instead of a flat secure walking surface, there were hills of tall grass and gullies to hike through to get to friends in the county. The only other option was to walk in the street dodging motor vehicles.

When relatives would come into town from the country, there was a pride of having a sidewalk in front of our house for easy access.

I sit on my porch as the sunsets and have brief conversations with neighbors walking by on the sidewalk. They bring their dogs or roll their children but are close enough to recognize faces and make a brief connection moving east or west. Joggers use the street, for it is wider and in this neck of the woods have fewer delivery trucks to avoid.

DIRE

 

Reporters and broadcasters have been using ‘dire’ to describe some of the war descriptions and one wonders?

Dire refers to situations or events that cause great fear and worry. A dire calamity causes much suffering. If a family is in dire need, they need immediate help. Dire predictions or warnings tell us that a disaster may happen in the future.

Dire and fury share a history in Roman mythology, as each of these words is connected to the Erinyes, the avenging and terrifying deities of ancient myth who tormented criminals. The Romans referred to these goddesses as either the Dirae or the Furiae. The former is from the Latin word dirus, from which dire is descended, and the latter comes from furere, from where we get fury.

The word dire is often found in conjunction with straits; in dire straits is used of a situation that is very bad or difficult. Our records indicate that this phrase began to be used in English at the end of the 18th century, when it appeared in Francis Fawkes’s The Argonautics of Apollonius Rhodius: “When now the heroes through the vast profound, Reach the dire straits with rocks encompass’d round.”

There are terms of disaster, catastrophe, calamity, cataclysm, tragedy, act of God, holocaust, accident, mishap, misadventure, mischance, setback, reversal, reverse of fortune, contretemps, stroke of ill luck, problem, difficulty, heavy blow, shock, buffet, adversity, trouble, misfortune, ruin, ruination, tribulation, woe, distress, casualty, bale, mishanter but calling a situation and calling it ‘dire’ seems there is no way out.

George Custer knew things were ‘dire’ at the Little Big Horn. The folks in the Twin Towers on 9/11 were pretty much in a ‘dire’ situation.

I’ve been in some unsavory or tight spots, but somehow always found a way.

Besides those of us who are on the other side of the world, dining on the veranda in Italy or climbing the trails in the Alps to watch the sunrise, will have some sympathy or empathy for the daily reports of people being blown up with no place to run to and then check the phone for some senseless influencer’s opinion or the latest must-have gadget. Stay tuned for the video.

It’s the time of the season for shopping...

Or should I say, “It is the time of the year to balance the GDP and make it/break it retail?”

Not one to put up seasonal decorations and at an age when there is no one else I buy presents for, December 25 is only the one day a year when the Tummy Temple is closed.

The walking downtown to the department stores to find my mother some fragrance she can store with her collection at her make-up stand or some gloves or scarves but never anything personal. Dad would get a tie or a bottle of Old Spice and usually a jigsaw puzzle for my brother and I’m done.

Christmas was the special time of year for my dad. He would fill the living room with loot to unwrap, then stack to show his appreciation for the family. I carried the tradition, even though there were no children to enjoy Santa, it was a futile procedure for entertainment and storage. Live trees were the norm, but with more animal’s pine trees in the living room were not optimum.

Today instead of window shopping or wandering the malls in search of a way to waste your money on that will either be a cherished memory or regifted next year.

What will be on your shopping list? Now that we stare at screens all day, all those little pop-ups are now converted into ‘fake news’ enticing a rabbit hole to take your money. Would you buy this kitchen appliance because it was endorsed by a pot smoking felon? Nothing says loving like another appliance for the kitchen or a replacement oven. Clothing goes out of style or wears out; jewelry goes out of fashion and timely items just fill up the closet.

We shop when we need something necessary. We shop for food or we will die. We shop for transportation or take the bus. We shop for affordable shelter that is large enough to fit all your stuff in hopefully in an area where you can tolerate your neighbors.

Then we shop for schools and churches and employment so as to afford more stuff we don’t need but spur of the moment purchases due to advertising (which filled my career convincing you that if you bought something, it paid my salary). Marketing and promotion are only feeding our dopamine and greed.

This year it seems mini-chainsaws, cordless vacuum cleaners and weighted blankets seem the trend this year. You can shop for drugs but you can’t buy wellness. You can shop for gym wear, but you know no one is going to the gym after age 25. You can shop for entertaining electronics that will take 6-months to learn how to us the upgrade, but you can’t buy happiness. You can shop for intimate items, but you can’t buy love.

The experience of shopping is just spending time together and that is priceless.

When you are ’76?

 

Another trip around the sun and still standing (though a bit wobbly). Wake up from the groggy naps and multiple trips down the hall and watch the sun come up, so I got another day. Even my birthday.

So, a bell doesn’t go off and there is no deadline to get dressed or comb my hair and brush my teeth, but it is now my birthday so I got to get up and move. Creak and crack but everything still work.

Bit chilly this morning, so it was time to wander upstairs and replace the floor fan with some hoodies. The sun ain’t shining on my birthday, but I’ll make do.

Once outside and taking a taste of the yard I get into my daily routine and the next thing I know I’m at the Tummy Temple. Mo’ folks are out on bikes and everyone is smiling (with their kids). Best part is I didn’t get run over (yet).

Still no zip carts, so I grab a BIG plastic cart to drive down the aisles. Today seems to be the ‘confused shoppers’ day’ so I have patience and stop and watch. It is entertaining and don’t cost nothing.

Since it is ‘birthday’ time, I gots to get a cake and ice cream, but the cheeze cake was hard to find and coffee ice cream seemed popular.

A new blue apron approved my beer purchase with a “Happy Birthday” after looking at my ID. Good enough for me.

Made it home with no muss or fuss, turned on the heater, cracked open a Corona and open a bag of buttered popcorn and I’m set for the day.

The evening will probably require some rocking on the porch to watch the sunset without noise. Peace and quiet and maybe a nap or two.

Life is still good. 

 

Coherent

 

Been recording conversations. Why, you ask?

There are fewer gatherings for conversations and fewer people to talk with that are the same age and have similar life experiences.

Those who pass my way in life that I do have brief chats with contain fascinating subjects of ‘weather’, ‘sports’ or if some wandering hobo comes up to tell me their life story, I quickly walk away. Nothing notable enough to remember or pass on to someone else.

The porch sessions can be relaxing and reveling, but many who have participated have left this world. Unfortunately for some, embarrassing for others and probably offensive in prying into another’s thoughts or history, I like the psychology of how people, who I’ve known, have progressed through the years. Whether they remember or want to answer personal questions, time will tell?

With the time passing, it is also interesting to hear how memories have morphed into the history approved by the speaker. Comparing notes don’t always match, but each creates their own legacy.

So here is a porch full of geezer guys sitting around telling tales while drinking beer and eating cheeze comfortable in the fall warmth. Listening to a playlist that isn’t blasting as past times, swapping present thoughts and opinions without offending one another. Mostly stories of family and illnesses and purchases.

What is fun (for me) is to listen how people express themselves. Some want to talk over others, some listening quietly with brief comments to let the others know they are still participating. No one is nodding off in the middle of the day, but the conversations are not confrontational, just memories.

Like any formal dinner party or sales convention, each wants to find their spot to chime in to enhance the conversation. Some will wave their hands to emphasize the meaning while others will sit quietly seeming bored and distracted to other topics. If a point is to be made, the conversation will constantly return until the speaker has made the point. You don’t stop a song in the middle.

With the constant flood of social media versions of what people should be following and not with a good vocabulary of the King’s English, some of the comments that are made by those we should expect to be knowledgeable enough to complete sentences become baffling to follow.

With a replay of yesterday’s words is an interesting reflection of where we are now. What hair that’s left is much lighter than before days. Now and then, some of the energy is there to create interest but we all have our own tales to tell and most are not formattable to the discussion.

The reason for a gathering is to prevail accomplishments, astound options or relish in each other’s stories. Today’s congregation of ole geezers sitting on a porch drinking beer and telling lies was a pleasant reminder of why we socialize.

As age progresses (as you may remember with your parents) the content of a conversation will become clouded with confusion that is tolerated with emotional interpretations. There will be a time when speaking to relate feelings or desires will fade as will movement or the desire to wake in the morning.

I’m proud to say that most of the conversations were coherent, though maybe scattered or self-centered. Repeats of lyrics or versus that some will remember while others watch in wonder of the mystical connection a few still share.

Do we think about what we are to say when we open our mouth? Our ability to speak to one another, in whatever configuration called language, is a special feature of our species. Other species communicate but not with written words. We can inform, move and possibility persuade others through verbal writings or music or poetry.

Is there anything better than a rocking chair on the porch on a warm summer’s day with a cool drink in hand to converse with another sharing the same experience?

Miss Information

 

Isn’t she lovely? She has won our hearts and minds and we are happy to listen to her. She is a siren of truth or fiction that we believe whatever she says because it fits our prejudices.

What was accepted as dedicated investigated journalism presented by trained reported and editors are now someone’s opinion mounted on a video podcast using whatever sources they provide to backup their announcement theory.

Public education is supposed to teach you how to read, write and calculate logical answers to problems. The church is supposed to teach to morals of right and wrong. The family is supposed to teach you common sense to not touch a hot stove or look both ways before you cross the street.

Then you find friends who have different points of views, who were raised in different environments or cultures, with ideas that are different than anything you’ve heard before. What do you decide?

Fact or fiction?

We enjoy getting lost in fantasy as entertainment to what we know doesn’t exist, but we buy the merch and will continue to follow the fiction in graphic comics, novels, movies, television to the point where reality and sci-fi blur.

Fact, supposedly backed up by research and scientistic data, is the truth until new study results arrives to question the previous established proclamations from experts in their fields.

Is wine good or bad for your health? Depends on who you listen to. The use of fermented fruit has been with us since time was recorded. Even the animal liked it. We make toast at formal affairs with a glass of grape and celebrate the winning of a football game like a bunch of intoxicated animals ravaging the neighborhood under the accepted influence of alcohol.

Tomorrow, unless you mailed in your ballot, we will line up, show our ID, get a piece of paper, make our mark and get a sticker that shows we participated in the democratic process.

Hopefully the $10b (that is with a B) spent on mailers and electronic firehose of questionable information about the election will be over. Was that money well spent?

Unfortunately, Miss Information will still be filling the airwaves with denials and possible violence, for the losers don’t go quietly. If it feeds our frustration or if it becomes late night comedy, time will tell.

Waiting for the call from Heaven

 

When you get to the end of the movie and have done everything you are supposed to do from the time you arrived, you wait for that phone call.

Not sure who decides the number or who makes the call, but your time will come when it rings. Whether you answer or not is up to you. Unfortunately, they don’t leave a voice mail or call back.

Some will say this is the call is to come home. Some is to say that this call is inevitable. Sometimes the call is early and sometimes you just sit and wait for the call.

The call might come from a long-departed family member or Saint Peter himself? Maybe heaven has a phone bank, due to the numbers they call during wars? If they put you on hold, what music do they play?

The call might come at any time. It could be when you are sleeping? It could be in the middle of a disaster?  The call might come while running a marathon or lying in a coma surrounded by family? What happens if someone else answers the phone?

I expect the call is giving directions on where to pick up your wings and what is on the evening meal’s menu but it may need verification that the call connected with the correct person.

If the call comes in on the ‘red phone’ can you say, “Wrong number”?