Nostalgia

 

A sentimental longing or wistful affection for the past, typically for a period or place with happy personal associations is nostalgia.

There is a group on Facebook that is Ole Images of my hometown. Every image gets comments of nostalgia. “My mother worked there…” or “Would go there and…” or “I remember that place…” Most of these images are no longer there or have been transformed into something different. A few have been preserved and under constant restoration but it’s history has changed along with its surroundings. They are the remaining monuments to the past.

The food wasn’t as good as we remember. The stores became dilapidated and succumbed to cultures moods.

Our memories of what these images show are not about the physical building but the people we were with. Where was your high school graduation? Where did you meet your sweetheart? Where you shopped or lived at a certain time of life?

Going back home after long time, you notice the places that are no longer and have a nostalgia rush of fond memories and those who were there at the time.

Recently I lost part of my nostalgia.

 

I really didn’t know him very well, but we stayed in contact to the end. He was a funky guy with a different take on life and enjoyed the communication from afar.

Think I met him from his first wife. She had dated another friend of mine and after they got married we made a connection. There was a lot of wine back then.

I do remember going to his brother’s apartment to move an upright piano up three stories in the fan. Weak minds and strong backs for a wall of rolling rock pony bottles.

Went to his house to be introduced to tool techniques that he was learning at the time and play with his daughter. Went out to eat at a Latino restaurant, had too much sangria and had to stay overnight at his apartment while listening as my wife barfed and he and his wife were going at it like drunken monkeys.

I remember one of my birthday parties and he was climbing up the front steps with this cute blonde. “Wow! What a friend. He’s bringing me a girl!” Turned out to be is second wife.

He did not attend my high school and was a couple years older. He grew up in a suburban neighborhood I never traveled through. He did not attend my wedding and I did not attend his. We both went to the same college but he didn’t graduate. He went into the army because his Draft Lottery number was #1. He was also a French military reeactor. Our paths would rarely cross.

I later found out he had worked at an wood crafting shop then working for the public school system (where he met the cute blonde). He told me of the restaurants we ate in but they are all closed now.

Then they left town.

We would send Christmas cards and some brief handwritten notes. He moved a couple of times and I lost contact with him. Years later I got a phone call that he was in town and at a nearby hotel. He and a partner were running cable for a communication company. I took him to a BBQ place just down the block. Both the hotel and the BBQ place are closed now.

Found him again through Facebook and we started emailing each other. That is where I learned more about him.

I found out he had a son. I found out they were living in a condo outside of the capitol of the commonwealth and not far from Three Mile Island. I convinced him into writing a Blog because he had some interesting and unique readings and quirky ideas. I would have conversations with him about de-hoarding after he went to Florida to clean out his father’s house. We’d communicate about philosophical thoughts rather than current television or popular culture. We didn’t speak of religion or politics. Then his wife informed me of his health conditions.

A few times they would come to town. He reconnected with his daughter. He brought his old bicycle down (that I had refurbished and donated to Goodwill). He gave me his father’s cassette player (that I wore out digitizing old cassettes). We went to a local show where his buddy from high school played drums. He regal tales of his world wide traveling while fussing about plane delays.

He enjoyed music and like one of my guitars, so I gave it to him. He had it tweaked but not sure he kept up the effort. He had a rock and roll history with a local band but he was a roadie instead of a performer. We jammed once doing ole instrumental surf music. His latest hobby was bookbinding.

I took a daylong train ride up to their place to attend an art exhibition the next day. They live in a clean suburban decor with two cats and a love tub. While his wife went off to work, we walked downtown to New Cumberland while picking up trash along the way. I was fascinated about the rural feel. That may have been nostalgia from a past life.

He was fairly quiet and unobtrusive. He was a wealth of rare knowledge of history. He was the mixologist of the family and the grill master. He spoke of the finer points of ingredients and techniques of fine dining, yet if he didn’t start the chili on time was continuously scolded. He was fairly quiet and unobtrusive.

One of the last times he was in town, we walked down to one of those old school family restaurants and talked about nostalgia. On the way home, I thought about if this was a bad idea for a long walk with his health situation and I didn’t have his wife’s number on my phone.

If I ever did one of my caricatures, I’d have to use both of their faces. They were rarely apart. They were still dating.

Recently his wife posted Triple G had left us.

Gathering

 

We gather together to…

We seem to like to gather for whatever reason.

I understand. If we group together we are less likely to be eaten by beast.

We gather to attend worship services. We feel safe to sit quietly being reaffirmed of our faith. We listen and quietly agree. We pay to be part of this club.

We gather to listen to music. Whether it is a quiet dressed up group to listen to a symphony or opera or a wild packing of drunken dancers listening to ear blasting festivals.

We gather together attend events from holiday celebrations to dog shows. We celebrate in gatherings to watch animal events from the Kentucky Derby to greyhound racing.

We gather to watch sports. We find our special fandom and take our sides to cheer whatever the game is, then celebrate our win or lost as if we had been in the mix.

We gather together for family events. A holiday or a birthday or a marriage is good excuses to gather people who have the same name.

Whenever we gather together, we eat. If in a formal dinner at a great hall or an outdoor celebration, food will be available. Do we gather at home to devour our dinner with other family members anymore?

I, for one, am not a fan of crowds. I find being amassed in a crowd of strangers uncomfortable. People smell. People get in the way. People are loud and basically disgusting.

In this day of gathering and sharing food and (if of legal age) adult libations until the arguments get excessive or the body gives out, we are thankful for one another.

Tomorrow we will gather to shop for what we don’t need and complain about the traffic and get home exhausted and ready to be alone. 

FAN

 

What are you a fan of?

Are you a fan of a team? Home team? College team? Sports team you’ve participated in or just watch? Do you go to the games? Do you wear the jerseys?

Are you a fan of movies? Do you buy the tickets before the reviews? Can you quote the lines? Do you have the posters?

Are you a fan of a band? Do you hop up and down with piles of others to listen to a few old ants reproducing songs you’ve heard years ago? Do you buy the tee shirts and records and then go home and tell all your friends the experience? Are you a fan of your local symphony?

Are you a fan of food? Do you read recipes or watch the cooking shows to prepare in your own kitchen? Do you follow certain chefs? Do you buy all the utensils? Do you enjoy eating?

Are you a fan of transportation? Do you have a shiny car? Do you enjoy getting out on the highway for ventures? Do you tinker under the hood? Do you read the magazines and hope someday you can afford that new speedster? Do you complain when your machine breaks down?

Are you a fan of religion? Does your faith reflect who you are? Do you wear your faith on your sleeve? Does your title contradict your religious teachings?

Are you a fan of your family? Do you have antiques and boxes of photos of your ancestry? Do you teach your offspring’s about your forefathers?

Are you a fan of yourself? Are you proud of what you do or what you’ve done? Have you abused yourself? Are you glad to see yourself in the mirror?

Testicle

 

Balls, nuts, gonads, rocks, marbles….

There are many names.

Testicles are two oval organs that produce sperm in men and other male mammals, enclosed in the scrotum behind the penis.

No one pays any attention to them until puberty. Then all efforts are taken to note show them.

Special plastic protection cups are worn to keep them away from injury while playing sports where bodies crash into each other.

Many jokes are made of a quick kick between the legs will bring down the angriest of enemies.

Every effort of manhood proves oneself if he has the balls to accomplish the task.

To make the mighty fall, pull down his pants.

He will run and shelter rather than show his mighty jewels. 

Senior Class

 

At a certain age, you are in the senior class.

You have a sweater with a letter. You have a swagger of what you have accomplished. You enjoy the title without worrying about graduation.

Graduation from this class will be your last.

The freshman class is a wonder. Everyone tells you what to do. You don’t know where the bathrooms are. You don’t know where your next class is. You don’t know whether to bring a lunchbox or a paper bag for lunch. You are working hard to fit in and none of the upper classmate will help.

Sophomore class is better. You are on your feet. You are finding groups to be with. You are seeking love. You are full of ideas. You are experimenting. You are transporting away from home. You are realizing failure.

Junior class is where you excel. You know your stuff. You make your mark. You struggle. You get a pet and it dies. You make a human. You find out what money means. You become opinionated. You get a second (third..) partner. You get accolades. You win disappointments.

Yet senior year is when you should have time to relax. You have made your story and don’t need to study. If you fail, you can’t go back. Some don’t make it to senior year.

Respect your senior class. They have a wealth of knowledge to share with you if you have time to listen.

Once they are graduated, they are gone.

How will (do) they talk about you?

 

You have friends and family and associates that you share casual communication everyday. You might get a call or a text or even some FaceTime on your electronic devices. You might even meet at some location to share a libation while sharing your recent experiences. It may seem very culpable, but what happens when you walk away?

What did the conversation leave behind? How were the thoughts conceived? Did the other person evaluate your meaning or need assistance from other?

You might dress well and have professional presentation manner, but there maybe a profile performance you don’t know about.

Others may have taken their observations and interactions with you to form their own opinions of your values and worth at the next appearance. One who thought you were entertaining or a good conversationalist may now have a difference to your previous experiences.

Some may call it gossip? Some may call it judgmental evaluation? Some may call it boring nonsense of limited personalities?

Remember when you meet someone you have not seen in some time, how will you appear to them? How do they appear to you?

Your hairstyle may have changed or you maybe wearing a different style of shoes? Then again you may have another person on your arm or in your arms?

So much could have changed that was never communicated directly. So much could have changed by other’s opinions.

We all constantly change our opinions by personal experiences, intellectually studies and knowledgeable presentations of thought worthy and vilified reports of events.

Or we can all meet without pre-established evaluations and begin anew?

Whatever you think, they will talk about you when you are gone.

Paying for Your Time

 

It seems to me, if you want to talk to someone, you’ve got to pay for it.

The recent news on Twitter (which I do not use) to tell users to pay a monthly charge to use the application caught my eye. https://www.reuters.com/technology/musk-says-twitter-will-charge-8-blue-tick-2022-11-01/

Since the “social media” proposition is to communicate, giving your opinions and thoughts to strangers without picking up the phone, has always been a draw. All the software had to be compatible with whatever operating system and hardware is available and there were ‘terms and conditions’ for the applicant to agree to, but it was FREE!

‘Facebook’, ‘YouTube’, ‘Wikipedia’, ‘Google’, ‘Yahoo’… all FREE!

Other than messenger or e-mail (which were also FREE!) there were programs defining groups who wanted to communicate person-to-person for romance, politics, religion, recipes, travel, and sports…

Some of these had fees, payments, subscriptions, and donations to pay for what advertising couldn’t cover. Sounds like newspapers?

So now the ‘new’ Twitter wants to charge a user a monthly fee to verify they are who they logged on with a secure password and a agreement to terms and conditions, to be.

We do pay for face-to-face communication. We gather at a dining establishment to eat and drink and converse. We tithe at our houses of worship to partake in social conversation of like beliefs. We pay our dues just to have a partner to share breakfast with.

So maybe we should be charged to have a talk?

Most of us are fairly boring and don’t have many new ideas to offer so the fee could be miniscule. Don’t know who or how a rating could be formulated if after a few minutes of shooting the breeze no interesting topics were discussed.

Then again some quiet whispers on a lonely grass knoll or total laser focused engagement in a noisy bar can be priceless.

How much would I pay for your time?

TITS

 

Tits, Boobs, Jugs, Ya-Ya’s, Melons, The Girls, Maracas, Knockers…. There are lots of terms for the female mammalian protuberances.

The breast is one of two prominence located on the upper ventral region of a primate’s torso. Both females and males develop breasts from the same embryological tissues.

In females, it serves as the mammary gland, which produces and secretes milk to feed infants. Subcutaneous fat covers and envelops a network of ducts that converge on the nipple, and these tissues give the breast its size and shape. At the ends of the ducts are lobules, or clusters of alveoli, where milk is produced and stored in response to hormonal signals. During pregnancy, the breast responds to a complex interaction of hormones, including estrogens, progesterone, and prolactin, that mediate the completion of its development, namely lobuloalveolar maturation, in preparation of lactation and breastfeeding.

Humans are the only animals with permanent breasts. At puberty, estrogens, in conjunction with growth hormone, cause permanent breast growth in female humans. This happens only to a much lesser extent in other primates—breast development in other primates generally only occurs with pregnancy. Along with their major function in providing nutrition for infants, female breasts have social and sexual characteristics.

Breasts have been featured in ancient and modern sculpture, art, and photography. They can figure prominently in the perception of a woman’s body and sexual attractiveness. A number of cultures associate breasts with sexuality and tend to regard bare breasts in public as immodest or indecent.

I grew up in the years when calendars featured topless gals for the male entertainment. These models did not show their breast in the movies or on television but came pretty close in some religious movies. Actresses who could get close to showing off their endowments became celebrities until age and gravity ended their careers. Movies even got modesty ratings for how much could be shown on the big screen and what age was socially acceptable to watch it.

Of course there were ‘blue’ movies and naughty magazines so kids already had an idea of what was going on.

Then puberty hit and my gender took an obsessive interest with the bulges in our schoolmate’s sweaters.

While we were growing hair all over the place, stuffing socks in our jock straps while our voices dropped, our wee-wee would uncontrollably become stiff at the thought of what the girls were growing. Every guy wanted to get in the backseat and find out what behind your slingshots.

The bra gained widespread adoption in the early twentieth century, when it largely replaced the corset. The first modern bra is attributed to Caresse Crosby, a New York publisher and activist who created the garment in 1910 by using two handkerchiefs and some ribbon. After patenting her design in 1914, she briefly manufactured bras at two-woman factory in Boston before selling her patent to the Warner Brothers Corset Company, which began mass-producing the garment.

Bras have gained symbolic significance beyond their mere functionality. Since training bras become standard during puberty, the garment can symbolize a rite of passage to adulthood. However, some feminists have argued that bras sexualize and objectify women’s breasts to conform to the male gaze. Surveys suggest that increasing numbers of women are going braless or adopting more comfortable wireless bras and bralettes to achieve more comfort.

Your reputations were constructed on how far you would let a fella go. Getting to second base was bragged to friends. Getting to third base was a bit more difficult. Even the casual fondle could be enjoyed or excused.

The covers of magazines showed movie stars showing off cleavage and the fashions followed. The size numbers were indications of how ‘stacked’ she was. For those who needed a silicon beef-up, there were padded bras to give the illusion.

Then the feminism revolution came along and the gals were burning their bras. The wet tee shirts were flopping and the boys couldn’t get enough, though there were some restrictions. No nipples.

Pick up any tabloid today and there are photos of side boob or under boob or bikini tops the size of postage stamps. The names may change from Marilyn Monroe to Britney Spears, but doing the shimmy still catches the headlines.

It is a wonder why women running for office or applying for a raise don’t use this mythical weapon?

Eyes up here.

What’s Wrong With You?

 

Mental health encompasses emotional, psychological, and social well-being. It influences cognition, perception, and behavior. It also determines how an individual handles stress, interpersonal relationships, and decision-making. Mental health includes subjective well-being, perceived self-efficacy, autonomy, competence, intergenerational dependence, and self-actualization of one’s intellectual and emotional potential, among others. From the perspectives of positive psychology or holism, mental health may include an individual’s ability to enjoy life and to create a balance between life activities and efforts to achieve psychological resilience. Cultural differences, subjective assessments, and competing professional theories all affect how one defines ‘mental health’.

I know I’m crazy. I admit to be abnormal (though I really cannot define ‘normal’).

Do I have mental health issues?

Psychiatrists are medical doctors; psychologists are not. Psychiatrists prescribe medication, psychologists can’t. Psychiatrists diagnose illness, manage treatment and provide a range of therapies for complex and serious mental illness. Psychologists focus on providing psychotherapy (talk therapy) to help patients.

Psychologists can do research, which is a very important contribution academically and clinically, to the profession. A therapist is a broader umbrella term for professionals who are trained—and often licensed—to provide a variety of treatments and rehabilitation for people.

You have specific rights when disclosing your diagnosis as a client receiving therapy. For example, it’s your right to ask your therapist to tell you if they believe you have a mental health condition. If you want a diagnosis, you can ask your therapist upfront.

Have known many people through my lifetime and consider all of them with some mental health issue. Could be stress, anxiety, manic/depression, ADHD, ADD or some other alphabetical description to a mental health issue. Could be listening to the news, family politics, children, religion, work or just waking up in the morning. Everyone I’ve known were a little wacko.

There are medical professionals who can diagnosis your special mental health issue and prescribe a possible solution to conform to the rest of society (or at least not act up possibly injuring yourself or others).

The brain is an incredible complex computer that runs our body.

 Brains are made of soft tissue, which includes gray and white matter, containing the nerve cells, non-neuronal cells (which help to maintain neurons and brain health), and small blood vessels. They have a high water content as well as a large amount (nearly 60 percent) of fat

The brain is the most complex part of the human body. This three-pound organ is the seat of intelligence, interpreter of the senses, initiator of body movement, and controller of behavior. Lying in its bony shell and washed by protective fluid, the brain is the source of all the qualities that define our humanity.

So one of the causes for every topic that fills the news from mass shootings to voting results denial is mental health.

I certainly don’t know what you are thinking. I don’t know what my friends think or say when I’m not there. All those folks that pass me driving or stand in the queue at the checkout all have different mental health issues.

I still avoid people walking by talking to no one, even if they have a phone in their hand.

Is that my issue or theirs?