#GivingBackTuesday

If you have lasted Thanksgiving, Black Friday, Shop Local Saturday, Football Sunday and Cyber Monday you have another way to spend your hard earned money.

#GivingBackTuesday is designed after all that hedonistic wastes of cash you might take a minute to give back to the NGOs who support you each and every day.

Seems this is the time of year when the wallet is deeply dipped into to reward desires and hopefully your conscience.

We all love the smiles on the little one’s faces as they tear into cheap plastic toys that will not wind up in a memory trunk to be passed on to their grandchildren. We also love to revel in a time to indulge in self-abundance, whether we can afford it or not.

So I hear the president is threatening a renowned automaker with its decision to downsize. Now I understand the president is a bit miffed with bellicose posturing and have it not play out.

Which leads me to ‘government subsidies’.

I’m not an economist but I do understand math. If I promise to do a deed for $10 and I complete the deed to your approval, you give me $10. Your deed is done and I’m up $10.

I also understand loans. I want to buy a house but I sure don’t have a gazillion dollar to pay for it. I go to the bank and give them my credit information to plead for cash. The banker looks at the options of will I pay them back or will they assume the house, either way a win and profit makers for the bank. The banker gives me a stack of papers to sign that says I will be indebt with an annual interest rate until I pay off every last penny.

Why would anyone want to do that? Saving enough money to buy a house would take forever. Even if your credit history isn’t that good, the lender can find some way to get your money.

So what about these subsidies? What about incentives?

Seems to be more money to go around to offer businesses and people to entice into agreements with promises of profitability all around. Did you ever thing your last raise was an incentive not to leave work? Businesses looking for a location can just await the bids of offers to sweeten deal.

Handouts, grants, donations, lotteries… no matter the name; it is FREE CASH.

Our problem is with paying-it-back. Again, if I borrow $10 and wait till the end of the month to pay it back, there is an interest charge. Check your fees on any bill.

Where and how you spend your money is up to you. Waste it away in Vegas or saving for your children’s education and hope they don’t drop out after the freshman year. Invest in hedge funds and hope there isn’t a crash (see the Vegas option) or reap the rewards of FREE CASH from the government (thus taxpayer’s money).

My parents gave me some incentives to further my education and an occasional loan (never paid back) but from there on I was on my own. No matter how much money you make, unexpected needs for additional funds will accrue.

It takes most of our lives to adjust our finances to pay for necessities and frivolous purchases, but by this age, if the incoming does not balance the outgoing, you might need some subsidies.

I’ll gladly pay you Tuesday for a hamburger today.

NEWS - papers

The newspaper was the source for news. A young lad on bicycle would throw it onto your porch every morning. It was reserved for father to read before shared with the family.

Pages were the size of a folding map and took the same skill to fold small enough to read. Each section had it’s own title: National news, local news, government news, business news, society news, sports news, comics, and classifieds. Sprinkled throughout the pages were advertisements for motorcars, appliances, clothing, houses, travel and much more.

Graphics were difficult to reproduce so the journalist had to describe who, what, where, when and why in an inverted triangle to help the editor and diagramed the bottom if necessary. Limited fonts and sizes gave the variety to the long columns of type.

Beside the ‘Dick and Jane’ books or the Bible; newspapers were the only available reading material. Stories on domestic abuse, gender variation, mental illness, religious atonement, substance abuse, and others were subjects left to the family or church to handle and swept under the carpet.

National news came in over the wire and usually was read days after the event. Local news might only take a day to assemble. Government reporting usually made the Editorial page with the publishers slant on what laws were being pass. Most business was about changes in CEOs while the rest of real estate; shopping centers, transportation, shopping sale days and travel relied upon advertising to provide the news. Sports were about the scores and the local teams. Classified were taken over the phone in alphabetical listing. Comics were delivered from the syndicates for the entire week.

The society page (or later the Women’s Page) were sewing secrets, cooking recipes, and columns like ‘Ask Amy’ for gossip secrets. Since the newspaper was also the town crier, social events like cotillions or wealthy dinner parties became news worthy.

Today’s news is different.

News is presented as entertainment. Beyond the flashy graphics and the smiling faces, the information that should be assembled and recorded by journalist with the knowledge of what to look for and what questions to ask then deciphered and corrected by fact checkers and acceptable style until editors approve for printing.

Instead the latest viral cell phone video will appear as fact with no additional information and announcers will refer to bloggers or people with long titles but questionable authority to reference an idea, truth or false.

Local news has become social media post and endless chat rooms. Government has too many polarized approaches to understand what is real and what is political propaganda. Businesses have dropped advertising to form their own websites with constant streaming and posting deals and specials to entice the social media reader. Society (or Lifestyes) has become personalized blogs and podcast and everyone has become their personal expert, with iPhone camera in hand. Sports first became entertainment with radio telecasting play-by-play games before television showed every angle with a team of analyzers and broadcasters filling the airwaves while the players took a break for commercials. The pen to paper comics turned into animated GIFs and eBay took away the classifieds.

In-depth reporting with follow ups has dissolved into a fleeting remark only to turn the page for the next mass shooting or airplane crash or celebrity domestic upheaval.

Obituaries are still the same. A photo, usually much younger, and a description of the family, a brief history and where to send the flowers is all that is left.

#GiveThanks

Mother: Everyone come to dinner

Father: Come on everyone to the table

Mother: No really the table is set

Sister: Don’t wait till it gets cold

Brother: But the game is on

Sister: If you don’t get your big butt in here now…

Father: OK, we are coming

Brother: Smells good

Cousin1: Smells great

Cousin2: Can I help?

Sister: A little late for that

Aunt: Did you put the gravy on before it is warm?

Uncle: Where is the scotch?

Aunt: You’ve had enough

Uncle: Oh hush woman

Dad: Everyone be seated

Uncle: Open that wine

Mother: Here is the turkey

Brother: Wow

Cousin1: Look at that bird

Aunt: Oh my

Uncle: Where is my glass of Jim Beam?

Sister: Mother it all looks wonderful

Father: Uncle would you lead the prayer

Uncle: Sure, I’ll try

Aunt: Bow your heads

Uncle: Oh heavenly father

Cousin2: Don’t gender the Lord

Cousin1: We all know the Lord is a black lesbian

Brother: Stop it you guys

Aunt: Let him finish or we will never eat

Father: Please continue

Uncle: Well bleesh this gathering before your bounty

Aunt: Amen

Father: Thank you for your prayers before I carve the bird

Uncle: Did I finish?

Mother: Amen

Brother: Pass the rolls

Sister: Pass the green bean casserole

Cousin1: Man did you see that pass

Cousin2: Sure did

Father: Does anyone want the dark meat?

Sister: Wha?

Brother: You heard him

Cousin1: Hehehehe

Cousin2: Hehehehe

Mother: What are they talking about?

Aunt: I’ll have some mashed potatoes

Uncle: My glass is empty again

Mother: Father, turn down the television sound

Brother: I want breast

Cousin1: Hehehehe

Cousin2: Hehehehe

Sister: You are not getting any

Brother: Tell mom and dad about the baby

Mother: Wha?

Uncle: My glass is empty again

Father: Let us get back to being thankful

Uncle: What about them caravan folk?

Mother: Let us not go there on this day of family gathering

Cousin2: We should just mow them down

Sister: That is horrible

Cousin1: That is what the president wants

Uncle: He don’t know nothing

Aunt: Get him another glass

Brother: Here you go Uncle

Aunt: Refill

Cousin1: They are just coming here to take our jobs

Cousin2: And our women

Cousin1: Oh yeah

Mother: Would anyone like a leg?

Brother: Ask sister

Father: Now boys stop acting up

Cousin1: Do you see what is happening on Instagram?

Cousin2: No, I’m watching videos of sister on Pinterest

Sister: Wha?

And so it goes through the evening for the Thanksgiving meal has become nothing but an electronic chat room.

The feast for Puppywoods will be:

·      Bag of Multi-grain bread

·      Bag of Pre-cut Turkey

·      Jar of Mayo

·      Box of stovetop stuffing

·      Jar of turkey gravy

·      Can of French-cut string beans

·      Can of cranberry sauce

·      Can of new potatoes

·      Container of pecan pie cup cakes

The Puppywoods process:

·      Place cranberry sauce can and pecan pie cup cakes in the refrigerator overnite to chill.

·      Unwrap that little twisty thing on the bread and pull out two slices. (Be sure to wrap it back up and re-twist so the bread doesn’t go stale)

·      Pour the contents of the stovetop stuffing in a skillet and heat (might want to check the instructions) Stir before the smoke starts

·      Rip open the turkey slices (if it is age or just the nutritional engineers manufacturing making childproof packaging, the e-z to open never works)

·      Apply abundant amount of mayo on the both slices of bread

·      Gently layer the turkey slices and cover with black peeper.

·      Stir the stuffing for the fire engine just arrived

·      Open the can of beans

·      Open the can of potatoes

·      Open the can of cranberry sauce

·      Throw some butter on the stuffing because butter just makes it better.

·      Eat the turkey sandwich

·      Turn down the heat on the stuffing and cover with the jar of gravy

·      Plop the potatoes and green beans into a pot and heat (Beware: you have two pans going and you have already indulged into adult beverages)

·      Turn off the stuffing and dump on a plate

·      Drop the cranberry cylinder on top

·      Mash together (sweet and salty)

·      Start shoveling the mixture in your face

·      Open some more refreshments to wash the concoction down

·      Loosen pants

·      Look at the pecan tarts and wonder if they will still be desirable?

·      Good time for a jog around the block, but alas the drooping eyelids calls for a horizontal position

·      Before snoozing off, wonder if a cup of coffee would help digest the sludge churning around in your tummy, but that will be tomorrow’s challenge.

There is much to be Thankful for.

Be thankful I did not build a home in Paradise. Be thankful I did not build a home in Panama City. Be thankful I lived another year. Be thankful that most of my friends also survived. Be thankful for electricity. Be thankful for the abundance that I don’t appreciate. Be thankful that they are keeping the football away from him. Be thankful for fake news to challenge your rational thinking. Be thankful for the pretty joggers. Be thankful when the construction noise ends. Be thankful for fans in the summer and mister heat in the winter. Be thankful for money in the bank. Be thankful for multiple pairs of underwear. Be thankful to not have anyone to buy presents for the next holiday. Be thankful for those weird dreams. Be thankful that in a few months of cold darkness, spring will arrive again. Be thankful the roof doesn’t leak. Be thankful to know your emotional limits. Be thankful your pants still fit. Be thankful the guy trying to sell you replacement windows calls on the same number. Be thankful the bike repair shop is within walking distance. Be thankful all your plumbing still works. Be thankful for hats. Be thankful for long johns on a cold windy day. Be thankful for smiles. Be thankful for full moons, owls and conversations with Rocky. Be thankful for toenail clippers. Be thankful for fire fighters. Be thankful mouthwash. Be thankful for waste disposal. Be thankful for NPR. Be thankful for guitars, drums and keyboards. Be thankful the television is not plugged in. Be thankful for pockets. Be thankful for toilet paper. Be thankful for sunshine and shadows. Be thankful for imagination. Be thankful for air and water and gravity. Be thankful.

Reading

When did you learn to read?

Did your parents read? Did their parents read?

Reading, from my understanding, has been the beginning of mental awareness.

Education was rare and infrequent due to kids working on farms and factories. News, as it was, was more word-of-mouth or town crier spreading truth or hand-me-down fiction. The church was a source of mind warping declaration of what to believe without any other reference to challenge. The church also had this book that no one could read or understand.

My father and my mother had the basic education to read. They understood the words, but referred to the Bible and Reader’s Digest as reading material. Television and radio filled the gaps of understanding.

Their parents were mostly uneducated. Understanding philosophy and global world order was far behind understanding how to get the crops in and the gossip was the newspaper of the time.

Before that, I’m not so sure any of my ancestries read. They might have been told from the baker that a cake’s weight was and cost was and had an agreement without dispute.

Those with ‘book learning’ were revered for at least sounding smart and thus got a following herd.

To communicate with another person required vocal grunts and groans and perhaps some creative cave paintings. As each of our family tribes learned a language to reference; we started to intermingle with other tribes. Our verbiage amongst our tribes had it’s own slang and cuss words and accents that could not be understood by others; causing fear and mistrust.

Many tribes tried to use symbols and numbers to express their culture, but even today, many are difficult to understand.

The church was the antitypes of the writing of words. Monks would labor pen and ink to scribe letters into Latin text defining the word of God. The power of being able to read these words was reserved to the church. More and more people became curious on being able to read this to others, thus began education.

Blocks of type, arranged in order on a slab, inked and paper pressed increase the availability of the written text. Great libraries were created to store these ‘books’ for scholars to read and contemplate the meanings of these words. As those who could read, they wanted to write their interpretations on what they read. Everyone has an opinion.

Learning to write was just as difficult as learning to read. Even kings had handshakes or a symbol pressed into wax to make their approval.

Since each individual had a name, learning to write your signature became a method of identity. Signing a name declared a vote, a purchase, or a declaration. The power of the pen was at hand.

Kids didn’t need to know much other than word-of-mouth instructions of how to hook up a plow or pluck and gut game, but with the introduction of the industrial age, the world of mechanics require better understanding.

As urban areas grew, schools were formed with fundamental education that included reading. Textbooks were becoming available so each student could repeat words that formed sentences that formed paragraphs so math and history and native language could be taught to the masses.

My understanding of reading was first the picture books. There was a ‘little engine that could’ and ‘Mickey and the Beanstalk’ that were supplemented by the television morning cartoons and afterschool kid shows. My parents didn’t read to me so I never understood the difference between the ‘there’, ‘they’re’, ‘thar’ difference. If the words sounded like the way people talked, but there were those pesky dangling participles. Still haven’t got it right.

I was lucky enough to attend university and find books that were more than just basic facts but pondering thoughts of possibilities and expanded ideas. Some of the words still confused me, but there was a dictionary and an encyclopedia to fill in the gaps. Today it is called ‘Google’.

I’m lucky to be able to scan the Internet and read whatever is posted out there (and there is a lot of stuff) and read the ingredients on a box of cereal (but have no idea what all that stuff is) and read instructional pamphlets (when my original intention is to build-it-myself). I assume most of the people I know can read due to all the books in their libraries, but now there are so many writings, it is hard to keep up.

Technology has brought us video with talking heads and sound and action to describe what was the written word giving the reader the challenge to imagine. Like the transition from radio to television where the character appeared as an actor that didn’t look like your image, video just pours true or false information for the mind to absorb.

I worry that many in our land, do not have or understand the basic reading skills. What we think is part of life, like breathing or eating, to read different points-of-views to form the ability to contemplate the various thoughts; forming an educated and logical opinion may be part of history.

Maybe I read that wrong?

Smoking

When you don’t think many things have changed, you find a subject that declares you are part of history now.

Growing up in Richmond, it was tobacco city. The smell of tobacco was in the air. Cigarettes were part of everyday culture. Smoking was not only acceptable but also fashionable.

Movie stars smoked. To be sociable, you offered another person a cigarette. There was a whole ritual of carrying a pack and to light a ladies’ cigarette with your Zippo lighter was a good come on line. Soldiers smoked to relieve their tensions and having a smoke after sex was sometimes preferred to pillow talk. The tough guys would always have a cigarette hanging on their lip. Clubs were full of smoke. Offices were full of smoke. Factories were full of smoke. No one took a smoke break; they just lit up.

I started to smoke in junior school. It was a cool thing to walk around with a pack rolled up in your sleeve. I wasn’t too fond of it and it made me cough but all the kids were doing it. Even with the filters, it was rough token. Menthol was coming out about that time and I tried that but it was like sissy candy. Those cowboys that rolled their own didn’t have no menthol.

My parents smoked. All the parents smoked. All our idols smoked. There were ashtrays all over the place. Every restaurant had a cigarette machine by the door. The fancy ones had a girl come by with a tray around her neck offering cigarettes. Television was filled with the temptation to smoke between commercials to drive the latest automobile.

My dad smoked Camels. They were tobacco rolled non-filter. On certain occasions he’d smoke a cigar, but both were more chewed on than inhaled. My mother was a chain smoker. She always had a cigarette going (sometimes in several rooms) and a cup of coffee. She would light another cigarette while coughing, but it never stopped her. At a certain age, some addictions are not worth fighting. There were burns on the tables and the rugs and how the house didn’t burn down is beyond me.

Since cigarettes didn’t feed my cool and cigars were a bit too rough for me, I decided to try a pipe. People in the movies who smoked a pipe were cool and had an air of intelligence, so I tried that.

A pipe was more about the procedure of packing and lighting and puffing rather than inhaling. There was an art of carrying a bag of tobacco and tampers and stick matches and scrapers and a variety of pipes. Different shapes and contours of pipes appealed to me like knives. There was a certain craftsmanship in a pipe.

Finding a special tobacco blend was also part of the procedure, like picking a fine wine or a fragrance. The pipe showed people what you preferred in woods and design, but the tobacco choice blended into the air they breathe.

Luckily for me, tobacco was still popular and I found a close by tobacco shop whose artisans who taught me the ways of smoking a pipe. I never bought a smoking jacket, but I did buy an abundance of pipes and racks and paraphernalia.

The tobacco I chose was a black Cavendish that when lit smelled like chocolate.

Cavendish Tobacco refers to tobacco that has been heat treated with fire or steam and then subjected to heavy pressure in order to produce a sweet taste with a moist texture. American, Dutch, and Danish varieties involve the addition of flavorings; while British Cavendish, commonly known as unsweetened or unflavored Cavendish brings out the natural sugars in the tobacco through pressure applied during the preparation process. Cavendish tobacco is named after Sir Thomas Cavendish.

The varieties of tobacco leaves most commonly used to create Cavendish tobacco are Virginia, and Burley.

The flavorings include sugar, cherry, maple, honey, licorice, chocolate, coconut, rum, strawberry, vanilla, walnut and bourbon.

The preparation of Cavendish tobacco begins by pressing the tobacco leaves into a cake approximately 2.5 cm (1 in) thick. Then the cake is heated using fire or steam, allowing the tobacco to ferment. After, the fermented cakes are cut into slices and packed into pipes. Finally, flavoring may be added before the leaves are pressed again. English Cavendish uses a dark flue or fire cured Virginia, which is steamed and then stored under pressure to allow it to cure and ferment for several days or weeks.

One day my wife asked me to stop smoking. No particular reason or problem, but just asked me. I quit.

Smoking was a habit, not an addiction.

Later smoking went from smoking tobacco to smoking some other kind of weed. The procedure and social acceptance in certain circles became not only the norm but also the requirement to ‘fit in’ like our parents saying, “Let me fix you a drink” or “Have a cigarette?” The culture grew with pipes and bongs and a variety of instruments to increase the experience.

Any passion following of cars or cooking or fashion or smoking gives Amazon a catalog of possibilities for a price.

I haven’t missed the smoky bars or the tasteless kisses. I gave all the aged pipes and racks and a sundry away and have not missed it. For the years that I did smoke, the damage has already been done to my lungs. There are no take backs.

Is the air any cleaner? Went downtown to an old tobacco warehouse being converted into a modern condominium refit and the floors and walls reeked of tobacco.

In this town, some things just don’t go away.

Christmas is a’cumin’

Skip that Turkey day and move right into the Capitalist Consumption Fury. How are you gonna carry that big screen TV or all those Black Friday bargains when you be stuffed like a turkey? You done gotta prepare.

You can look in the closets and the attic but there ain’t enough paper and ribbon to wrap a rubber band, so get cracking and stock up on that worthless thin terribly design pattered paper to wrap all your Amazon boxes. Don’t forget the personal cards that no one will read and when the paper starts flying will get lost in the pile of trash so you can’t send a ‘Thank You’ card to Aunt Sally because you have no idea which gift was hers.

Besides you didn’t send her anything so next year she might forget about you and write you out of her will.

Get yards and yards of ribbon to make a paper box look pretty and enough tape to wrap the Eiffel Tower three times over. This year, be adventurous and us duck tape. Break out the bloody Mary’s and watch as the kids struggle to open their Santa’s gifts without a sharp object. Teeth tearing is recommended but not required. See how innovative your children can be after another round and a room full of laughter.

You’ve already made your list and are searching the Internet for the best value or availability before 30 days, foregoing the snow and backed up traffic and out-of-stock items, but that is all part of the adventure.

Think back to your childhood when you believed a big fat white haired guy in a red suit would land on your roof with a bunch of stinky flying caribou to deliver you whatever you desired for a glass of milk and a cookie. It was worth saying your prayers and being good in the hope of getting the latest most popular treasure as it appeared on television.

Christmas shopping at my house was my mother taking me downtown to Miller and Rhoades and Thalhimers to pick up some funky perfume for my grandmother, some shaving cream for my dad, while she sneaked me into getting fitted for a suit (hey mister, watch where you are putting your hands. You with the TSA?); while she looked at the hats. A club sandwich and back on the bus; done for the day.

Christmas eve all the lights were up and the tree was covered in tinsel and my brother and I were sent to our rooms (normal procedure) as all the boxes and candy filled stockings were arranged while we slept with sugar plums in our dreams.  

Before dawn, I’d awake and start to panic. We’d wake my parents wanting to go downstairs and see if the fat man had arrived and eaten his cookie. My blurry eyed parents who had probably been hitting the eggnog all night kept us at bay with the yellow tape at the top of the stairs.

My father would slowly venture down to make sure the big man had gone and no reindeer poop was left to be picked up before the consumption crescendo happened. He’d come back from his scouting mission and our anticipation just heightened.

With the sunrise came the opening of the gates as in any race to get downstairs and dig into the loot.

Rather than a random free-for-all tearing of paper with joyful glee, my parents sat us in corners while we gazed at the piles of colored boxes hoping our name was on one. Since my brother was the eldest son, he was instructed to dig through the cacophony of family wishes; one for mother, one for father, one for brother and one for me.

We’d stretch out the morning opening one-by-one, little gifts showing our joy of receiving something we really didn’t want but the rules were set.

After all the gifts were open and all the paper and ribbons thrown away, we settled into a holiday. If family was coming over, we’d tidy things up and the silver platters would come out with the abundance of the day. If not family visitations were scheduled; I was free to visit my other friends to see what booty they raked in.

Somewhat later I realized getting wasn’t the point. Giving was what it was all about.

My question to you is… “Do you remember those childhood Christmas presents?”

Christmas presents are a good sign of what your parents wanted for you.

Our presents are seeds passed out to show affection.

As I reflect I got lots of socks. Pens were always a cheap and abundant gift. Watches seemed a timely gift. A few shirts my mom had stuffed away with that suit stuffed in the really big box.

It mattered how much our folks had to spend on us rug rats for the holiday of showing their appreciation of taking care of us through all these years. Some Christmas was scarce to cardboard tanks that would melt in the rain or card table tablecloth forts. Other Christmas was a car for my brother and I got a toy baby doll.

The season of shopping is always fun (if you got the funds) to surprise your loved ones with gifts they will cherish. That is the sensation of the holidays, even without the fairy tales of Rudolf or Elves.

When I think back to opening a box to find a bottle of Ole Spice aftershave, I’d express joy and wonder only to be searching for the next box, as panning for gold only to find an electric razor or a tie clip.

At the end of the day, the cards were lined up on the mantle piece and the prizes were arranged under the tree for all passersby to witness.

This year there will be a new Christmas tradition.

Stay tuned.

Tampoons

I pity you poor ladies. You get the bum’s rush to life.

First you grow lumps on your chest, then strap them up, then wear war paint on your face, shave your legs, squeeze into girdles and then the bleeding starts. For one week every month you feel like crap and have to stuff pads and stuff in your undies.

Now as a guy, we got our problems with puberty too, but nothing like yours. Oh we get boners when we see you walk by with a little bounce in your step and occasionally have premature ejaculations, but not having to wear our sweater around our waste due to spillage.

The reason I even mention this is I had to take a turn at the Tummy Temple today to move around a traffic jam of confused lost shoppers and wound up in the ‘sanitary pad’ aisle. Modern science and marketing has many packages for this stuff and I still get embarrassed to be here.

When dating, the girl would say, “I’m on the rag” and I’d see her in another week. I never wanted to know the details.

Sanitary napkins (like contraception or sexual procedure) was never mentioned, at least in proper circles.

When I got married, I let my wife go pick out her feminine products and buy them separately and stuffed away in a brown paper bag. If she ran out and sent me to replenish, I always got the wrong thing or size or whatever because I just wanted to get it and get out.

Even buying rubbers…. ah, prophylactics, I’d avoid and take my chances. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t.

Unlike today where they keep them next to the comic books, the family planning products were kept behind the counter (with the girly magazines and bullets) and requested from the druggist to pick out and purchased. I think you had to have your ID checked too.

I don’t need to buy either now but in my wanderings through the aisles I notice the diapers. That was something else I never had to buy, but a little bit further down the aisle there are the ‘adult’ diapers.

Having just had another Geezer birthday and not incontinent yet, it is only a matter of time.

Leaves

Photosynthesis is what first produced oxygen in the atmosphere billions of years ago, and it's still what keeps it there. Sunlight splits the water molecules (made of hydrogen and oxygen) held in a plant's leaves and releases the oxygen in them into the air. The leftover hydrogen combines with carbon dioxide to produce carbohydrates, which the plant uses as food—as do any animals or humans who might eat the plant.

That is what the leaf does.

Every spring we see them pop out on the barren sticks to fill the air with a rustle and provide shade from the sunshine. Every fall they turn bright colors then die and fall to the ground.

Neighbors find that quite untidy and proceed to blow the little buggers into the street and away from their green lawns with massive nosey machines. There in a pile the leaves will sit.

There was a time when the city would come by with a giant vacuum truck and suck all that mess up, but they don’t do that anymore. Now it is up to the house owner to rake up the soppy mess and place them in recycle friendly disposable bags beside the trash to be picked up on their normal schedule.

Those who decide to just let fall rot into the spring creates some slippery challenges for those of us who ride two wheels.

Seems after a rain or two the leaves break down to a soup of slithery danger, combined with the wooden marbles can make any roaming a life threatening adventure.

Come the frost and the snow and the sand will all make the decision of should I stay or should I go more difficult.

The piles of rotting Mothernature also make me swerve around closer into traffic, which is not a preferable option. Forgive me for pulling to the curb while you pass, but I found that the best survival tactic.

So settle into wearing another layer and long finger gloves and after the dark days the sun will come out, the rain will wash away the sand and the new leaves will come out to welcome solid traction again.

Another Chapter

Who knew? Woke up this morning and here it was; seven decades and counting. Some have gone before and some will never make it.

Birthdays are time for reflection, at least for me. What has happened in the past year to mark this moment in time?

There is a new neighbor next door who I’ve never met. One of the houses down the block is getting a facelift and another house is being occupied after a year of renovations. The winter dragged on and the spring and summer were rainy. The summer had hotter days than last year but that is the sign of things to come. A few cosmetic repairs around the house were made by hired hands, but nothing major. Finished replacing the windows so the house is much quieter inside. Shopping for shorts turned into a snafu, but the wrong sizes will be donated for Christmas. One flat tire and miles of travel through the streets being dug up and patched. No major drama without the television, but the silliness continues to happen everyday. The west is on fire, the east is being destroyed by hurricanes and the wars continue. Food is down to one meal a day and sleep is an adventure. Didn’t go to the hospital, church, DMV or city hall and the daily trips to the Tummy Temple are always enjoyable. Social media seems to have been resolved to a much faster scroll but still find some treasures.

The pace is probably slower. As a true Geezer, I’m allowed.

Not sure when Geezerhood really starts but 70 is definitely not the current 20s. Don’t need a walker or a cane yet but am aware my eyes get tired earlier and some days are more unstable than others, but that too is just the inevitable future.

The past year has not been good for at least a dozen friends who are now deleted from the rolls. There are no guarantees for tomorrow, so I take my time and try to enjoy the little things.

Since there will be no presents under the tree and no turkey in the oven, I look forward to a new holiday ritual (more to come on that).

Tonight I’ll have two slices of cheesecake and some ice cream to celebrate my accomplishment to have made it this far. We’ll see how many more flips of the calendar I can make.