Lucky

 

When you get to the twilight of your years, you look back and say, “How did I get here?”

Lucky.

Born in a hospital instead of at home. A doctor realized when he pulled me out I was not breathing and beat life into me.

Lucky.

Born to a mother AND a father who provided me with food and shelter and made the rules of my youth and were able to support me until the end, with or without emotion.

Lucky.

Born Caucasian and male.

Lucky.

Raised in a middle class neighborhood with good education, country clubs, church on Sunday and yearly Christmas presents.

Lucky.

Accepted to a college with terrible SAT scores but avoided being drafted. Graduated in 4-years without any debt.

Lucky.

Experienced summers with crazy cousins at the beach learning how to sail and surf and get a taste of life away from parents.

Lucky.

Learned guitar well enough to make noise with others as performance art. Only later realizing the details of family history.

Lucky.

Having a bus stop at the front door and entertainment within walking distance. Learning to ride a bicycle.

Lucky.

Surviving youth without too many fights or accidents and no broken bones. Tonsils and appendix are not necessary to grow up.

Lucky.

Finding lust at an early age and not knowing what to do with it.

Lucky.

Having a recognizable name from almost famous dad.

Lucky.

Getting employment the same day. Being provided with salary increases on mere thought process and ability to illustrate ideas.

Lucky.

To learn the ability to read and comprehend, even with glasses.

Lucky.

To have been loved unconditionally and mostly unaware of what that meant. Late in life learned how lucky I was.

Lucky.

To have been on the roller coaster of credit cards and loans to have conquered debt and release the stress of money.

Lucky.

To not be the prime example of health, but feel fit as a fiddle with no pain or pills.

Lucky.

To have lasted this far in a quiet place that is dry and warm in the winter and cool enough in the summer to survive with enough money in the bank to possibly last to the end?

Unlucky.

To be in the Golden Years with a global pandemic and a ton of crazies armed to the hilt running amok while our home burns up to prove revelation was right.

Phishing

 

My wife learned the term. It may have been the ‘Today Show’ or ‘Dr. Phil’ or ‘Rachael Ray’ but she picked it up and knew not to tell any dirty secrets to anybody.

I’ve always questioned a stranger’s request for personal information, but have been very open to friends. There shouldn’t be secrets among friends.

Our society is based on asking questions.

Would you like a better insurance on your car? Would you apply for a bargain deal on a credit card? Would you participate in a ponzi scheme or a pyramid multi-level marketing to make it rich?

Phishing is the fraudulent practice of sending emails purporting to be from reputable companies in order to induce individuals to reveal personal information, such as passwords and credit card numbers.

We don’t think about it as we post comments and ask and answer questions trying to find the unknown?

Are we curious or are we vetting? How much do you need to know about someone else? How much to you want to revel to others?

When you meet a stranger you finding interesting, usually about how they appear, and want to know more, you ask questions. What is your name? Where did you grow up? Where did you go to school? Where do you work? Where do you live? Is there someone waiting for you to come home?

Some think of this as small talk. Others think this is phishing.

No one thinks the answer might be a lie. That is not my real name online.

At times we even move in with or marry another person and know very little about them. No matter how many questions you ask, the answers can change through the years.

Went up on the hill about twelve o'clock
Reached right back and got me a pole
Went to the hardware and got me a hook
Attached that line right on that hook
Says you've been a-fishin' all the time
I'm a-goin' fishin' too

I bet your life, your lovin' wife
Can catch more fish than you
Any fish bite if you've got good bait
Here's a little somethin' I would like to relate
Any fish bite, you've got good bait.
I'm a-goin' a-fishin', yes, I'm a-goin' a-fishin'
I'm a-goin' a-fishin' too

Looked down the river about one o'clock
Spied this catfish swimmin' around
I've got so hungry, didn't know what to do
I'm gonna get me a catfish too

Yes, you've been fishin' all the time
I'm a-goin' a-fishin' too
I bet your life your lovin' wife
Catch more fish than you
Any fish bite, got good bait
Here's a little somethin' I would like to relate
Any fish bite, you've got good bait
I'm a-goin' a-fishin', yes, I'm goin' a-fishin'
I'm a-goin' a-fishin' too

Put on your skillet, don't never mind your lead
Mama gonna cook 'em with the short'nin' bread
Says you been fishin' all the time
I'm a-goin a-fishin' too
I bet your life, your lovin' wife
Can catch more fish than you
Any fish bite, if you've got good bait
Here's a little somethin' I would like to relate
Any fish bite, you've got good bait
I'm a-goin' a-fishin', yes, I'm goin' a-fishin'
I'm a-goin' a-fishin' too

Getting Old

 

Getting old isn’t for everyone. Some don’t make it this far.

You know you are ‘old’ when the people in the obituaries are the same as you are now.

You now can identify as a senior citizen, an old coot, a geezer or just a decrepit old fool. You can be cherish as a grand or ignored waiting to die.

Old is an object, concept, relationship, etc., having existed for a relatively long period of time.

Old is when you realize those joys you used to do are now memories.

An old an abandoned building; old friend

Old is finding out the reason your email was not returned.

Old is living being, having lived for most of the expected years.

Old is the realization that the music you listen to is retro.

Old is becoming a wrinkled old man

Old is meeting a friend from the past and don’t recognize them.

Old is a perishable item, having existed for most, or more than its shelf life.

Old is looking at pictures in your high school annual and can’t remember their names.

Old is having been used and thus no longer new or unused.

Old is when you don’t have to show your ID.

Old is having existed or lived for the specified time.

Old is taking off your watch because time doesn’t matter.

Old is that does no longer exist.

Old does not live in social community.

Old is obsolete; out-of-date.

Old can question the ideals.

Old is when drunk and quarrelsome they just gave him the old heave-ho.

Old is when no one understands your jokes and you don’t laugh at any of theirs.

Old is tiresome after prolonged repetition.

Old is wearing the same shirt for days because it doesn’t matter to be fashionable.

Old is ancient, long-in-the-tooth, aged, elderly, out-of-date, antiquated, and obsolete.

On the plus side, you have the knowledge and wisdom of age.

On the negative side, the shell you are living in is starting to fail.

Some call these the ‘Golden Years’ when you can relax from a hard worn existence to enjoy relaxing with family and friends. This is the time to ripe the rewards of life. Old is a home that is paid for, a full bank account, travel and enjoyment at a leisurely pace.

Old is also when the doctor tells you the diagnosis.

Old is realizing the roller coaster is on the down slope.

Old is when your children start deviating up your assists’.

Old is thinking twice about bending over.

On the calendar, I can mark this day. Tomorrow may never come. This is what being old is.

Some say, “Being old beats the alternative.” No one I know has come back to confirm that statement.

Resilience, Repatriated, Assimilation, Evacuation

 

Life is tough. There is no instruction manual and the elders don’t know what to tell you because they just stumbled through so far with the experiment called ‘living’.

To be solo means resilience without support, yet we tend to want to become part of the group. You can lean on me.

What does it mean to ‘fit in’? You have to be the same family or look like everyone else or have some connection like school, work or color. You can change your clothing or haircut and even learn the language but have you assimilated?

If you leave home and years after come back, will you be accepted? You have changed and so has the place you left. What was home is now a tourist. There is no reverse on life.

With all the perceived strife and anxiety, what is one to do? Turn off all the electronics and hide under a rock? Filter the news to only what you want to hear? Create a paranoia that everyone else is wrong or bad or sick and must be avoided at all cost for your survival?

This journey isn’t easy. Each day a new challenge presents itself to be solved. What’s for dinner? What do I wear? Should I answer that call? Who is at the door?

Those of us, the survivors, become resilient to what life hands us. You can fight back but you can’t win. You can take your lumps and walk away. This is a fight to the death.

Some may move to a different location but no one has yet left the planet. Traveling introduces new languages, foods and customs but life follows you. Is it a venture into paradise or releasing the demons of hell?

Yet we survive.

We humans are a scrappy lot. We fall down but get back up. We bend but don’t break. We adapt to live in the most terrible conditions. We can complain but no one is going to make it right. We can pray to our creator but we are only getting voice mail.

If we are stuck here with all this mayhem, might as well be resilient. It aren’t getting any better.

Be strong.

Evacuation

 

This word “evacuation” has been repeated often in the news. It certainly makes since that if a flood is coming or a fire or some wild hungry animals or a tornado or a tsunami or unpleasant folks carrying weapons that wish to cause havoc or some other natural or unnatural disaster for your survival you would get the heck out of there. The question is where would you go?

Most of us have an emergency kit in our medicine cabinet containing iodine and a few band-aids, but do you have an evacuation plan? Some have an evacuate plan for getting out of a burning house with rolled up ladders by the windows and stickers on windows to tell the first responders where the children are, but have you ever tested it?

News reports or phone alerts or social media, but who wants to leave home can foresee today’s evacuation notices. No one wants to line up with everyone in the neighborhood escaping imminent doom on an exodus to nowhere.

If you have a relative or a friend you could travel to, how long will they allow you and whatever you brought into their space? If you can find vacancy at a local bedding establishment, can you afford to stay? Are you far enough away from harm?

Evacuation indicates once the danger has passed you can go back to your home, unpack and turn on the TV. Think of it as a mini-vacation.

What happens if there is nothing to go back to? If you former domicile had burnt down or been bombed or flooded what do you do?

Still need to get out of the rain and cold and find some food. How much do you have on your credit card? School, work, child care, volunteering is all out the window because you are in an emergency survival situation.

Even if you decide to rebuild and start over, there are insurance funds to process, contractors to hire, new utilities connected and landscaping. Will your job give you time off? Will you (and or your family) sleep in the car? Can you get gas?

If everything is gone except what you could grab as you ran out the door, where are all your documentation? Who are you now? Can you prove it?

So now where do you go? You must migrate to another place as a refugee. Whatever you left behind is gone and forgotten.

If you’d been in the Twin Towers on 9/11, there was nowhere to evacuate.

Self-Sufficient

 

I think of myself as self-sufficient.

 

I’m really not.

 

I don’t grow my food or weave my clothing or dig my water or heat with cut lumber.

I think of when people had to be self-sufficient and wonder when will this happen… again?

 

I didn’t build my shelter. I’ve had a few repairs made but paid someone else to do them.

I don’t grow my food. I travel a few miles away where there is a market that allows me to pick and choose what people all over the world grow and produce. I can have a taste for pickles or pasta with a vast array of selections. All I have to do is swipe a plastic card and take it all home.

If I get thirsty, I turn the tap and water comes out. Someone long ago planted pipes in the ground and connected me with a steady flow of treated water for input and output. A flush makes smelly things go away; I don’t have to deal with.

I’ve got a closet full of shirts, pants and sweaters. I did not make any of them. They are sewn and assembled on the other side of the world. I make a selection and add to the cart and two days later they are on my porch.

If I get hot, I turn on a fan. There are these plugs in all the walls that bring in power to make my fans, refrigerator, washing machine (yes, no hand washing) and microwave work with a push of a button. I didn’t lay the cables but did have it upgraded from the war years, but by a professional with the right tools and insurance.

So with all that said, seems I’m not so self-sufficient.

 

Still I’m the only one who pours the hot water into the cup to make instant coffee. I’m the only one who decides when the towels need to be washed. I’m the only one who knows when it is time to wake. I’m the only one who knows when it is time to sleep.

 

Is self-sufficient anti-social?

 

Being alone is different than being with a ‘partner’ (spouse, wife, …) Other than being at work in different places, you have to deal with each other all the time.

The same is for neighbors. If they wish to be friendly or not can form social activity or just be ignored.

 

The difference comes when there is a disaster.

 

When the power goes out or the water stops flowing; who else decides what to do?

There is no one to turn to for advice or suggestions. There is no one else to help out.

You are on your own until someone else brings help or solves the problem.

If you were aware enough to understand a disaster was coming you could stock up on supplies. If you knew the disaster was coming, where would you evacuate?

 

Where would you evacuate? How would you get there, if there were a place to go?

 

If you found out you were sick, what would you do?

 

When you think you are self-sufficient, these are things you ponder about.

Where were you on 9/12?

 

It was a clear September fall day, very similar to today. The ride downtown was normal. The shower and change of clothing was the same as it always has been since we moved into the newly constructed building. I don’t remember if the basement elevator used the scan card or I took the steps?

It was deafening quiet in the office. A gray array of low cubicles opened to ‘neighborhoods’ to five or six designers sitting watching their computer screens.

My usual pattern would be to go to my cubicle, read the overnight e-mail, check the ‘problem rack’ left from the night before, then go to each ‘neighborhood’ to hand out work and check on the ‘associates’.

Today was different.

When I got to my office, a ‘Happy Homemaker’ came up and pinned a red, white and blue ribbon to my shirt. She had made one for everyone in the office. We didn’t say a word and she went back to her seat.

I can’t remember if the schedule had changed from the usual follow up deadlines for classifieds to get them to the Hanover printing plant on time. Then clean up for the night crew and leave a report of any items to be passed on.

 

It was not like the day before, which should have been the same routine, but something happened. The first I remember was an e-mail that said something is going on in New York. Then the manager behind me started calling people over to watch her log onto the Internet to stream the news. People started getting on phones and work stopped. 

Next was a meeting in the middle of the newsroom announcing they producing a special edition that would be printed with the classifieds and people volunteered to deliver them to the local convenience store with whatever information they had at the time. The normal newspaper delivery  gig workers only came around midnight.

My job, as Operation Manager, was to make sure the ‘imagers’ processed every photo AP was providing and the ‘paginators’ prepped the pages to send to the presses. Some of the photos that I saw I knew could not be printed.

Everything worked like a well-oiled machine, all done in a quiet hush.

I hadn’t been watching the streaming video as everyone else was trying to do throughout the building. I was trying to keep people doing their jobs as a distraction.

Not until I got home that night did I see the entire story on the television screen. My wife had been watching it all day long, over and over and over again, just like the Challenger explosion. Shortly thereafter, she had a heart attack.

 

On Wednesday, September 12, 2001 no one knew what was going to happen next. Were we going to be attacked again? Would there be soldiers in the streets? Will my bank close?

One thing I immediately noticed was the silence. Everyone had to figure out what he or she had seen and how to cope with it in their own way. Also the order came to get ALL of the planes to land. You don’t think about the noise of planes flying overhead until they are not there. The only noises in the sky were the birds and an occasional fighter jet.

The American Flag (the old glory, red, white and blue, stars and strips) started to appear everywhere. Every house put out a flag on the front porch. Every car and truck had a metal magnetic flag on it. The fire trucks started carrying flags. The football teams came out of the tunnel carrying flags. There were flag lapel pins. There were flag decals in every store window. Everyone was showing patriotism.

Then people started getting angry and posting offensive statements (like they do today in memes). Since my department was diverse, I took down some pictures and told everyone to keep their feelings to themselves.

 

The New York Times posted a full page of the faces of the NYFD who died. A local firefighter asked if we could get copies for the fire departments here. I suggested it to my boss but she thought it was frivolous and a waste of materials. I thought it would be great public relations for the newspaper, but she did not agree.

So I contacted the NYT and got an e-mail of the page. I printed out the copies requested (during downtimes) and gave the fireman his request. He gave me an NYFD cap sent to him from New York.

 

Then the news shifted from cleaning up the rubble to attacking another country and bombing mountains. The magnetic flags slide off the cars and flags started coming down from porches. Our patriotic fever changed to Christmas consumption and twin lights over the skyline. There were still gigantic flags on the football field and flyovers, but every year we stop for an anniversary of clear day in September.

We have to go through metal detectors now. We can’t carry bottles and must take off our shoes. We have surveillance from hidden cameras and are told, “If you see something, say something”.

 

So where were you on 9/12?