Ultra-Processed Food

 

This weekend is the BIG GAME. That means lots of snacks and drinks and elastic pants.

I eat prepared foods.

That means someone else processes my meals and wraps them so I can buy their expertise and consume to maintain existences.

I avoid (as best as possible) the ultra-processed food.

Ultra-processed foods (UPFs) are industrial formulations that undergo extensive processing, often involving multiple ingredients and additives. They are typically highly palatable, convenient, and have a long shelf life.

Fast food – These little boxes popped up on the side of the road to be tempting for walkers or drivers to stop by their dining establishment for refreshment at an affordable price. Point to the limited menu on the wall for the cashier in a colorful uniform with a paper hat may not speak your language. After an exchange of funds, you were instructed to move to another area where you received your plastic tray with sandwiches wrapped in paper and greasy spud strips just momently before were put to heat and presented as a meal. If you dared to eat in sitting in a booth only moments before held another family had occupied, was there time to clean or did you take your chances? No one attempted to use the restrooms.

Fried food – Growing up in the south, frying in lard or fat iron pan was a preferred preparation for all types of food. The smoked filled the house and increased the hunger of the diners. Poultry, fish, steak, potatoes all became a standard on the menu. Pan fried vegetables in a wok came later.

Convenient food – Those corner bodegas where you pop in to get a lottery ticket and some sugary drink, there is what is described food. Easy to go bag of chips and beef jerky, there are those wieners rolling on for how long that can be put in a soft stale bun and covered in cheese whiz. Nothing more appetizing than that.

Whole food- As opposed to ½ food, these labels are supposed to indicate healthy. If the bread is brown and has seed in it, it is whole bread. Have to read the label on noodles or vegetables or what separates it from the brand names promoted on television.

Omnivore – Eat meat or not eat meat? That is the question. Carnivore or herbivore? Go to the backyard garden and pull some beans, then shuck them in a paper bag, boil and serve only to be ignored on the plate. Go out to the hen house and ring the neck of a chicken and after it spurts blood and runs around, pluck it, gut it, remove the toes, cover the carcass in flour and slap it in a pan until golden brown and serve with a biscuit and honey. There is an industry of herding animals to graze on open lands until put to slaughter, drained, sliced and diced and ground up for the protein pleasure.

There are some foods I’ve sampled or prepared to fulfill my palate. 

Ambrosia, beef bouillon, tomato aspic, calamari, chitins, jambalaya, fritters, gumbo, hoppin’ john, burgoo, po’ boy, red-eyed gravy, collards, fried green tomatoes, field peas, succotash, salsa, spoon bread, perloo, Bouillabaisse, quiche Lorraine, croquette monsieur, boeuf bourguignon, dacquoise, frites, confit, papillote, cassoulet, soufflé, Paris-Brest, jamon ibeerico, paella, gazpacho, Espanola, contomate, bocadillos, chorizo, salmorejo, churros, dim sum, sushi, sweet and sour pork, kung pao chicken, ma po tofu, wontons, dumplings, chow mien, Peking roasted duck, spring rolls, moo shu pork, and hot pot, etc. Not as fond of caviar, calamary or haggis.

Everyone has preferences in taste, like music.

Barber’s Adagio, Stalin’s manifesto, Ode an die Freude, Chopin Nocturne in C sharp minor or Richard Berry’s ‘Louie Louie’ in the key of E.

Everyone has a preference for movies, books, artwork, cars, interior designs, fashion, but cooking and consuming what is placed before you is a life necessity. Whether you like the taste or not, this is the fuel that keeps your carcass moving.

Having a kitchen with all the appliances and utensils is a room that cannot be denied in most abodes. Without one, it is delivery from some far distant chef or traveling to someone else’s kitchen to eat what they prepare and serve. Please leave a tip.

Some of the best $65 omelets are prepared at the local greasy spoon due to repetition and knowing the amount of ingredients needed (like your grandmother eyed from taste and not a recipe). Other dining experiences are about presentation and abundance of pampering service in starched jackets and expansive wine list.

So, for the BIG GAME DAY, looks like the weather will be suitable for a venture to the Tummy Temple and watch the masses scrabble for the bags of salty treats and the last of the guacamole fruit. The beer racks should be barren as will be the paper wipes. Still if there is a bit of sunshine and fresh air and I can survive getting in and out of the parking lot without being smushed, I’ll enjoy the show with the purpose of coming home with peanuts, popcorn and cracker jacks for the yard Monkees. Once safe back home, I’ll open a cardboard box and check the instructions for heating a frozen pizza that was prepared in some foreign place at some distant time and after the prescribed wait will roll a sharp knife over it to divide into triangle slices, cover in farmer john cheese powder and red pepper flakes as my daily meal.

The day after, I’ll watch the highlights on YouTube and hope the full gut will empty for another adventure into delicious delicacy delights.

Armchair Quarterback

 

It is amazing how, after the game is over, we all have an opinion of what went wrong. Some may have an idea of how a team will play and some will cheer and root during the game, but many more will come out of the woodwork to analyze the specifics of the players, coaches, weather, uniforms, cheerleaders, vendors, parking lot, shoes worn, ball inflation and commercials to meticulously diagnosis (with pre-bias) and declare their take on play-by-play review.

Like written history and verbal recollections, events are filtered by who views it. Like a crime scene, you need to know what you are looking for. Many have not participated in the events but are only by-standers. Some may have no background knowledge of the event or the participants, but are more than willing to add to the confusion based on personal preferences. Without our definition of what we saw, there would be no conversation around the water cooler.

The comments on movie reviews, ballgames, dances, television shows, fashion, music, hair styles, automobiles, government positions and actions are free to post and reply in this country (so far) and it seems we all relish being armchair quarterbacks. If it isn’t our original thought, we can copy a meme or photo or video that relates our opinion.

With the adage of “social media” everyone who can type with their opposing thumbs can post comments for all to see (fact checking not required). Some of the comments, taken as God’s given word, can become ‘viral’ (which means it is read by more than a dozen and perhaps spread with additional variations to a theme?). The (supposed) established and trusted journalistic news organizations will post stories of cultural celebrity’s views of the weather, foreign affairs, what to wear, how to eat or just getting old and the readers gobble it up. There is no basis that the subject at hand or the reporter have any knowledge of the subject, other than rambling on with whatever fills their head at the moment. Unfortunately, some of these ‘celebrities’ are political officials who can affect our daily lives with their opinions. Elected to become our tribe’s leaders, through charisma, charm, wealth, physical appearance or vocabulary prowess, we (the people) voted for them to make decisions on where to put our roads, how tall the buildings can be, how to filter the water we drink, toils, taxes, speed limits, school locations, air quality, security, what our kids can read in schools and where to go to the bathroom and now whether you can pray in school (or work?). You don’t remember their names but just check off a box on the ballot and hope for the best. You might remember the names of the quarterback and the head coach, but have no idea who the center or the left guard or the punter. Who is your state’s house of representative?

Doesn’t matter, for we want to declare what ‘WE’ would have done instead of someone else, after the fact. If the event wasn’t predicted and analyzed before it happened, the survivors get to pick up the pieces.

Our current trend in society is to make on-line comments on various sites that support your opinions to give a dose of dopamine and validate your view of life. Like reading a book, you can get lost in sci-fi, romance, history, mystery, fantasy, erotica, philosophy, psychology, mythology, theology, medical science, ancestry, musicality, etc.…

You wear it on your t-shirt and hat. You put bumper stickers on your cars. You put signs in your yard (along with seasonal decorations). At the local union meeting or the formal dining occasion, you will be known by your internet ramblings.

When questioned, few (from what I’ve experienced) have a plan to follow up their accusations or slurs with something that will get them off the couch and take action. Send a note to your city council (if you know their names) to vent your frustration. If so, engulfed by intensity, like group of individuals may organize and form a parade, with signs and bullhorns and chants, to protest whatever action they oppose. There are certain restrictions on such activities but with the proper permits the local authorities will tape off an approved area for your noise.

Armchair Quarterbacks just want to spout for the moment and then move onto what the next annoyance is. Rave on.

Security contingent

 

Last Monday in the nation’s capital was the passing of the flame from two men who sit behind the desk in the oval office. Every moment was well scripted and rehearsed and other than the cold weather forcing the parade to be inside, this was the best of this countries pomp and circumstance.

The city was full of soldiers and sailors, all bundled up in the dress whites holding rifles with fixed bayonets.  Maybe they were left over from a former president’s funeral, but the city was full of our armies finest. They lined every hallway and marched back and forth in tiled rooms displaying their jewelry and precision to the NEW commander and chief. Even with all the celebrities and government officials in the Sunday attire, boys and girls in uniform stand out from the crowd. Not all carried weapons. Many played songs and themes of the day to fill in between speeches and time to move the masses from room to room.

Along with the military occupation of the city, the law enforcement officers were out in force. After the security mishap from four years earlier, gates and check points and fences had been installed on every route and rest of the city shutdown. Whether it was the cold or a curfew, not as many on lookers were looking on.

The transition procedures seemed secure.

Now the current president has a contingent of secret service for protection. These are the guys and gals who wear the dark glasses, open the doors and stand close to the president without interfering in his actions but close enough to take a bullet. The first family members also get secret service protection as do the newly elected president. Don’t know if there is an A Team and a B Team and they make a switch after taking the oath of the office, but there are lots of guys in dark suits standing around talking into their hands.

Before inaugurations, as I’ve noticed, haven’t had the mass security of this Monday’s events. I could be wrong?

One thing I did notice about THIS event was the guest of the newly elected president. When you think you are important or lead an organization or have a large amount of money, you have a security contingent. Probably on a smaller scale than a head of state, but some folks walking beside you with weapons in their pockets scooping the surroundings so you won’t be harassed. These are the folks who drive your cars, open your doors and stand by the walls when you eat, prepare an agenda approved by investigations of potential danger and guard the gate while you are asleep.

What I was wondering was on Monday’s gatherings, how many security contingents were there? Did their earpieces get static from crossover Wi-Fi? Who leads the way when two (or more) important people walk down the hall together? Is there a priority for protection? If there is a problem, do these big burley guys stumble over each other trying to cover their particular mark? What is the police role or do they add to the confusion? With all those guns drawn, could there be a shoot-out?

Most of the people I know do not have a security contingency (that I know of). Some are scared enough of the world to buy (and sometimes wear) a sidearm. If they feel more secure carrying a gat is fine, if they know how to use this. I don’t want to live in the Wild West partner.

After a week in isolation and running out of food and drink, I’m awaiting the temperatures to get out of the freezing range. I’ll ride my usual route without ear buds so observe my route and listen for approaching vehicles. I scan my surroundings before and after entering a building and feel comfortable when I arrive home without conflict.

What do you do with all of them?

 

I understand war. Side A gets a bunch of people together, dresses them in similar costumes, gives them weapons of mass destruction. Side B does a similar process and the two sides face off against one another. The goal of this game, for whatever good reason they have concluded, is to kill as many of the other side as possible. Simple.

During this game, many are injured and must be dragged back to hospitals of the homeland. Others are killed and, if their fellow soldiers have the time, are sent back home to be buried.

Our species, in one land or another, have followed this ritual long before I got here and continue until today. I understand people get upset with other people. Sometimes, what causes conflict is a simple excuse to let out your anger. The anger may be a verbal harassment to road rage to one procuring a weapon and doing physical to another. There are laws and even religious commandments against doing this, but it doesn’t stop.

Some of the ‘leaders’ who order people into battle are overthrown. Some of the participants of this game realize the futility and surrender. Sometimes one side has more bullets than the other side as bodies and declare a win.

My question is what happens to those who surrender?

Maybe they were overwhelmed or maybe they ran out of bullets or maybe some general someplace decided they wanted to run for politics at a later date and ordered everyone to raise the white flag.

Now, the other side have all these folks standing around with their hands up. You take away their weapons and search them for secret contraband like maps or letters from home, then you line them upon a road.

You can’t shoot them (though it happens) for they are unarmed, so you march them down the road to get away from the front line fighting that might still be going in another area. These are people who just moments before were trying to kill you but are now your responsibility. You can’t send them back, for they will just pick up more weapons and come back to kill you again.

These folks are now in your care. You are responsible to house them, cloth them, feed them and treat them with dignity even though they may appear different and speak a different tongue.

Some area must be found to store these folks. To maintain control, a wire or wooden fence needs to be built to show a perimeter where they folks are allow to venture without being shot. Rather than having all these folks standing out in the weather, it seems humane to pitch tents or shacks and provide blankets and cots for sleeping. Someone has to provide meals or starve the masses to alleviate a rebellion. A minimum number of soldiers who would be sent to the front line to keep killing the enemy are held back to show the consequences for the prisoners to obey their new orders.

You can keep these detainees busy by questioning them or forcing them to do maintenance work like digging latrines or patching leaky roofs. Though this situation may become tedious repetition (which is the army way) and tools used must be accounted for at the end of the day so as not be used as weapons against those who restrict their assimilation into the population or dig tunnels to escape. If more prisoners are accumulated bathing (due to smell and disease prevention) will be necessary. Medical facilities will have to be established to treat everything from battle wounds to rotting teeth. If children, women and other civilians have been mixed up in this crowd, they will probably need to be dissimilated from the warriors.  

As long as the turmoil continues, these dis-combatants will need to be sheltered, clothed, fed and bed until they can be returned from parts where they came from. All of this takes money. Did the victors fund for the homeless along with the bombs and planes and bullets?

Recently, wild fires are not only burning down forest, but leveling neighborhoods. Homeowners are now homeless. Insurance companies are adapting to the pressure of fulfilling their claims and construction companies seek workers who are being deported.

There are wonderful organizations who provide assistance and food from caring donations, but how long will that last? Would you allow a bunch of folks to pitch a tent in your backyard? Would you feel comfortable having strangers use your bathroom and eat your food? Sending in a PayPal to a GoFundMe ensure the money will go to the needy or pay for a night on the town?

So, everyone turns to the politicians for a solution.

What would you do?

 

I worked in an office for almost 4 decades. There were injuries with sharp objects but no collapses that I saw. I’d heard of other people in different departments fainting and the solution was to call Smitty. He was a production supervisor who was also an EMT in the county. He brought his tool box of gaze and thermometers to work and at a moment’s notice would rush to the scene of the accident or medical emergency and apply his assistance until the ambulance arrived.

Having Smitty available to call was good, but I wondered the legality of having an associate perform unrequested life-saving techniques on an employee? Even if the ambulance comes and hauls the patient away but they die in the hospital, who could the family sue for neglect? If the employee had died on the floor in the office, whether Smitty was there or not, should limit the cause of death? If even the most empathic person attempts to ease the suffering, did they do more harm than good?

I know some who will read this have been professionally trained and experienced in rescuing life in an accident while the rest of us will just stare at their magic.

I was a life guard. I was taught basic CPR from a navy medic. Chest compressions and two quick breathes into a mouth. It made since because if someone was drowning and the person with a whistle around their neck dragged the body out of the water, as an authoritarian figure needed to do something rather than stand around looking at the limp body on the beach. Fold the arms over the head and turn the face to clear the swallowed water. How long can you do compressions until the ambulance arrives?

Later, in the workplace, I was given instructions (as a supervisor) to the latest CPR method without locking lips. It makes sense that employers want to make the effort to show their attempts of empathy for the employee, other than health insurance and a first aid kit on the wall with band aids and aspirin, but what liability does the company take to imply a 15-minute session from Human Resources can save a life?

Later, a defibrillation machine training was given to managers, as if someone fell to the floor clutching their chest, we were to jump into action assuming they were having a heart attack, order the machine be pulled off the wall next to the elevator on every floor, and take over effort to maintain life until the REAL EMTs arrive.

The employee’s shirt is torn open (gender not withstanding – this is no time for modesty) and the machine turn on (with the battery hopefully charged) and place paddles on the skin in the correct position to shock the body back into 60 – 100 beat rhythm. Who has the statoscope and a stopwatch to measure the effort? Who is taking the pulse?

This person might have pre-existing health problems? Health and disability are personal and human resources must be careful in sharing this information with potential employer. There are also laws and requirements for access and disability adjustments that will no deflate the companies profit from hiring a suitable candidate.

If an applicant has a health issue that may cause them to go into seizure or collapse at any moment during the shift, what should their supervisor know or be prepared for it? A smoker is allowed to take numerous breaks from work to harm themselves. There are even rooms set aside for these guys to gather and fill the special filtration system with smoke. Should this behavior be agreed upon employment as a disability or an addiction? How will the corporation expand the bottle in the bottom draw or the worker found limp in the bathroom with a needle in their arm?

If the person working at the next desk, arrive on time but then starts crying. What is your responsibility to ask questions or expect a supervisor to note the questionable behavior and call the worker aside to cure the problem? Many associates will be opening to share their personal problems but don’t expect their ‘friends’ to solve a divorce or distributive marriage or wayward child or monetary problems.

What if, you decide to have some friends over for a few drinks and one falls on the floor? What is your responsibility as a host to guarantee their existence while on your property? If there is blood, do you drag the body onto the kitchen floor to save the carpet? Of course, you call 911 (used to be dial O for the operator to understand what the problem was and contact the appropriate assistance – give precise directions for there was no digital direction device yet) and put a towel you can waste on the open wound while everyone stands around and ponders?

Today, I was squeezed between two cars, one pulling out and the other driving in and I was in the middle. There was no place to pull out to escape and I could have been the next number on the board of two-wheelers who just get in the way of drivers. I could have been smooshed again the wall of the grocery with no recourse or excuse for pedaling in this jammed parking lot.

As you can tell, I survived another day and made it back home before the arctic blast. Tomorrow, ticky-tacky will shut down teen influences, the shooting will stop in the middle east and Monday a a president will swore back in on another MLK holiday and the trash removal will take a break.

What would you do?

Evolution vs. Transition

 

I read that evolution was how we crawled out of the water in Africa, learned to stand up and walk and try to stay alive. We adapted on this spinning marble in space to find food, drink and shelter while procreating the next generation.

Our recent evolution could be called our culture. We have no decision to this long-term transformation of height, eye color, hair and weight, yet we evolve to form conformity with similar looking species.

Evolution is the change in the heritable characteristics of biological populations over successive generations. It occurs when evolutionary processes such as natural selection and genetic drift act on genetic variation, resulting in certain characteristics becoming more or less common within a population over successive generations. The process of evolution has given rise to biodiversity at every level of biological organization. Other terms for evolution are Heredity, Mutation, Recombination, Epigenetic, Natural selection, Adaption and Extinction.

 

A transition is a change from one thing to the next, either in action or state of being - as in a job transition or as in the much more dramatic example of a caterpillar making a transition into a butterfly. Other terms for transition are Conversion or Transformation.

The meaning of transition is synonymous with change, move, shift, leap, progression or development. Its definition as a noun is the process or a period of changing from one state or condition to another.

Transitioning can be a long and ongoing process, or it can happen over a short period of time. You might try out different things as you learn what’s best for you. The transition process is about becoming more fully you — in body, mind, and relationships. So, people sometimes call transitioning “congruence.”

I’ve been (so far) through the transition of life. The shell I inhabit has stretched and grown without my control.

Yet, much of my transition has been my decision. Choosing clothing, attending classes to find gainful employment, learning to dance, finding a suitable mate and trying to pay the bills without getting into trouble with the authorities. Some of my transitions have not been the best. Other transitions were made through outside influences and events. I’ve transitioned from child to teen to young adult to middle age and now onto senior. I’ve transitioned from student to artist to administrator. I’ve transitioned from single to married to widow. I’ve transitioned from employed to retired.

None of these transitions affected anyone else in my family or ancestry. My body has transformed through the evolution of my species but I’ve not transitioned my gender.

I also have not gotten a tattoo. 

You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone

 

Last year, I started off with too much water from a leaking meter.

This year, I started off not having any water.

It seems we had a snowfall and the water filtration system had a problem and the entire city had water shut off.

I’ve had water shut off before. Hurricanes, late payments and even a broken heater tank caused the tap to go dry. Most had been a day or two until water came out of the tap again, so it has never been a destabilizing situation. I could find a public washroom to clean and flush. I could adjust my hydration from the tap to the can. I could go to the local barista for a steaming cup of Joe.

In this case, businesses were closing due to the lack of water. Shelves were empty of the omnipresent bottle water. No one in the city was watering their lawn, washing their cars or taking a bath.

Luckily there was snow on the ground to manually make the toilet function. There were enough different liquid variations to keep hydrated. There was no cooking or bathing, but there are privileges to living alone.

The city officials tried to keep the public positive by daily reports of what guys in jumpsuits and wrenches were doing to get the water running, but there was no time line.

By the end of the week, pumps had been replaced, filters were checked and the sputter through the faucet announced the water was back.

When the daily hours of boredom and redundancy goes on and on, we forget the essence of existence we take for granted. Flip a switch and light appears. Put in a key and the door opens. Turn the knob and water comes out.

The pipes in my neighborhood were installed at the end of WWII. The pipes further downtown were installed after the civil war. The city has sent out a notice checking for lead replacement in pipes but there is no deadline or cost established.

Just like the monotony of any relationship, you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.

Superman

 

This morning on NPR’s “This American Life” (highly recommended) was a strange story about a guy who dressed up as Superman and it made me recall a time when…

I was not an avid graphic novel reader. I didn’t even follow the daily comics in the newspaper. I had no fantasy heroes, other than the cowboys on television.

There was a television show called ‘Superman’ but I never connected it with the comic book. I never knew the background story until much later. It stared some guy who was the brother of an actor in the Claymation Greek history movies, but he didn’t have a beard.

Now this was in the days of black and white television and special effects were basic. This Superman could break through papier-mâché walls and bend rubber bars. When the bad guys shot at him with their cap guns, the sound of bullets bouncing off his chest sounded fake and he ducked if anyone threw anything at him. When he wasn’t Superman, he dressed just like every other guy and had a pair of horn-rimmed glasses on as a hidden identify. He wore his tights under his suit and would change into a super hero in a phone booth. He would jump out a window to fly and to land would just jump back in. To fly, he’d lay on a stool with a fan blowing him in the face, then the special effects guys would mask out the stool and show a stock film of clouds in the background.

I wasn’t really a fan, but somewhere along the way I got a t-shirt with the big ‘S’ on it (as you can see). About this age I also had a Davey Crockett outfit with a racoon hat and a cowboy outfit mixed from Zorro, Gunsmoke, Have Gun Will Travel and the Gray Ghost.

It wasn’t until the early 60’s before advertisers caught on by wearing a t-shirt with an image on it was a walking billboard so today it is hard to find a piece of clothing that does not have a message or manufacturers label on it.

This wasn’t immediately I related the radio show and ‘Superman’ to. Instead, there was a valentine card years later.

A little backstory.

Valentines was always about cards. I was always drawing and cutting up construction paper and gluing original cards to give to everyone from classmates to cousins. The envelope usually had a piece of hard candy in it. This was the time when Christmas cards were mailed at the post office and displayed around the tree.

Then, as the age approached, the opposite gender became attractive and simple hand drawn cards were not as impressive as the ones at Hallmark. The messages were written by professional copywriters for at that age we didn’t have words for the hormones raging in us.

The habit grew old until I got re-married. This wife was big on romance so Valentine’s Day was as big as Christmas and wedding anniversary. The Hallmark shop at the mall was a regular spot to sneak in a card to hide under a pillow or just make a dull day special (like giving a rose).

Well, as the story goes, I got in contact with a girl I’d intimately known ages ago. A flood of memories filtered by time. My wife had become routine after a couple of decades and she knew nothing of this electronic communication with a stranger. I wasn’t trying to make a dirty secret, but she wouldn’t understand or approve of another flirting with me.

The girl came to town and we had a lunch or two. She told me how I broken her teenage heart (a story I seemed to have heard many times before) and once her mission was complete, she left.

I was smitten. I knew nothing about this person after so many years, but I was drawn into intrigue from a brief moment in time and a fantasy dream.

I sent gifts and flowers and tried to get her attention, but she wasn’t interested. I was on a quest.

Valentine’s Day was coming around, so my trip to Hallmark brought back two cards. I hid them both, but…

On the day of hearts, I gave my wife her card. Its message was I was her ‘Superman’. It wasn’t the most romantic message. Then she asked about the ‘other’ card that had some flirty mushy lovey-dovey message in it.

“Was I having an affair?” she asked.

Busted!

Through the years she made an effort to rid my life of memories of my first wife to the point where I had to lock up my previous wedding album. Any image of me and some other women were either ripped in half or thrown away.

My excuse (or alibi) was pretty much true, but I continued to be plagued by teenage hormones of puppy love and I knew it. I continued the secret rendezvous messaging, with fewer and fewer responses.

Then, out of the blue, my wife said “I was her Superman”.

When we first met, I heard tales to make any all-American lad want to protect her from this fate. She quit her job, left her ‘boyfriend’ and moved into my house and thus the die was cast.

So when I heard the radio show this morning, I did not think of walking around in tights with a cape, but remembered “I was her Superman”.

Before The Snow Comes

 

Woke up yesterday to the crow caws. The three amigos (Sheryl, Russel and Counting) are usually quiet. They are the funeral directors of the neighborhood. They come around now and then for some water and say ‘Hello’ but are too big for the yard. They usually don’t fuss, unless it is Al (my old owl friend) has come back around. My usual feather alarm are the J’s who make a fuss if Mr. Hawk is around. I never did see them but whatever it was stopped shortly. Whoever it was left me some big feathers. Did you know you cannot buy eagle feathers? You can buy goose feathers, but only the native Americans can collect the nations bird feathers for their headdress.

Went outside to the studio. No plans to ride today, but need to feed the yard and enjoy the sunshine. My bike buddy was inside staying warm from the wind. He’s got his own entrance and is always welcomed. Then I noticed the yard was full of smoke. The breeze was blowing and I figured the neighbor was stoking up the fireplace, but the smoke kept coming. I walked outside and looked around to make sure it was coming from my house. I checked all the smokestacks and didn’t see any smoke? I think the neighbor was burning spy secrets again but it is very dry and don’t need a spark to lite the yard. It didn’t get any warmer, but the smoke stopped.

Today the governor is calling for a ‘commonwealth of emergency’ and schools are closing before the first flake. The sun is shining, so I made a slow ride to the Tummy Temple to get a few items and enjoy the panic.

Stopped to pet the girls behind me and find out the electric company is surveying the area to run underground wires.

The Tummy Temple parking lot was as full as I expected, but found my spot without too much delay. What was surprising was everyone seemed friendly. With all the carts full of snow preparation for staying inside and gorging, everyone was pleasant and patient and almost courteous. I found what I was looking for without too many detours and even the check-out was pleasant. I commented to the manager that they were busy and someone must have said the ‘S-word’. She smiled and agreed. I’m sure in her mind she was thinking ‘cha-ching’.

Took a little longer to get out of the parade of shoppers, but still no signs of fighting over empty spots or honking horns. Back on the road, the additional layer was keeping me warm and there was little traffic. It must all be back in the parking lot.

Now the plan is to sit back with a warm cup of coffee and watch the weather postings for a week. I may stir outside, but don’t need to test the icy streets. Still haven’t made my New Year’s dinner of ham steak, black eyed peas, okra and stewed tomatoes soaked up by Virginia cornbread. Got a lot of wire to run and cables to connect.

Wonder if they will pick up the trash and recycling tomorrow?

Shake It Up Baby

 

New year and time for new resolutions. Scratch off the date from last year and add 2025? The routine has been constant for several years with little ‘to-do’ to be ‘to-done’. How will a quarter of the 21^st century be any different?

Evaluating my expenses and looking back on last year (getting ready for taxes) I conclude I’m an old slug. It is not for lack of money or time and the ‘to-do’ list isn’t that hard. ‘Vacuum’, ‘Clean the sink’, ‘Change a light bulb’… done of which requires special training or technical prowess reserved for the young. I have the tools that what for a turn on but I don’t have the gumption to tackle the easiest of chores.

Instead, I’ve got into a daily routine of riding in good weather to the Tummy Temple, then using a cart as a walker and collecting the daily meal (for me and the yard critters) plus 2- 6-packs of hydrations, then returning to get lost in social media and music until dark. When all the hydration is empty and placed in recycling and darkness comes, wander back into the big house to list my financial spending of the day, turn on the NPR channel and crawl under the covers.

Unless motivation by something that is broken (like the microwave that is replaced the next day after being delivered to the front door) every day is rinse and repeat. Life has become boring.

So, my 2025 resolution is the ‘shake it up baby’. Break the routine. Do something different and get that ‘to-do’ list done.

I’m not crazy to change everything overnight. I still go to the Tummy Temple, but do not go down the alcohol aisle. I don’t need it or get tipsy drinking it and it has gotten too expensive, so I can shift to tea or ginger ale. It will probably be better for me anyway, but it is only day 3 and I haven’t had any withdrawal.

Yesterday I did a bit of gardening and came away huffing and puffing as if I had done some major lifting. My still rational mind tells me that is not good and I’ve been sitting on my butt too long. Time to move these old bones around.

With that said, the beginning of a new year is the reflection of the year past. The holiday season has plenty of memories and pictures to suck me into a melancholy mood, but now snow is coming and it will be cold enough to say in the hot house. Tomorrow and next week I will not go to the Tummy Temple.

The other considerations for change from last year are:

Culture

I’ve tended to observe rather than participate in cultural events (except voting, I did that) and am not interested in where I perceive our species are going. I’ll scan the headlines and get a gist of what is popular and trending but unless it involves old folks will probably avoid it. It was easy to turn off the television, perhaps it is time to leave social media?

Food

Yesterday I ate two hamburger patties and bloated as if I’d devoured a 6-course meal. I’ve tasted most delicacies and cuisine and little interest me to culinary experiments in the kitchen.  A cup of soup or a breakfast biscuit does me for the day. Perhaps when I start moving more, I’ll require additional portions?

Community

Being a hermit seems to fit my need for socializing. I do notice when I get around others for conversation, I ramble on, for I have plenty of stories and no one to tell them to. Unfortunately, there are many I used to have interesting discussions with, but they are gone. Many of the banter I hear today are complaints about health, society or politics.

Shopping

Every holiday season I see all the advertising and marketing prompts for additional spending that I used to have a career doing and can easily avoid the latest craze or gadget that will be put in a drawer or thrown away. I do not miss going into a brick-and-mortar and coming out with bags of stuff that years later became clutter to donate to charity and have no interest in going to ‘the mall’ to waste time and go into debt helping the GDP.

Home

At this time in life, I am lucky to be where I am and with my surroundings and invisible neighbors. Without some catastrophe disaster, I should be about to live out my money and maintain my abode in semi-comfort.

Travel

I think I’ve been everywhere I wanted and some places I would not want to return. Even the voyages through the neighbor have shrunk to minimal milage. Besides I have friends who take selfies in front of some iconic ancient relic (or is that green screen?) and can reveal in the disasters of cruises or hotels.

Entertainment

Without television or movies, whatever example of entertainment I can glimpse on social media in short video clips. I do try to listen to current tunes but nothing catches my fancy. The ‘must hear’ reviews have little to offer and perhaps the music industry has gotten overwhelmed with digital downloads instead of vinyl records. The extravagances festivals or concerts do not entice me to spend enormous amounts of green to press into a mass of screaming strangers but that is what performers must present to get attention. Luckily, I have plenty of old favorites to sing along with and have plenty of toys to make my own noise.

Creativity

Part of this ‘new year’ resolution is to get back to imagination and putting ink on paper. Inspiration has avoided me so it is time to get back to sketching and doing something graphic beside telling tales on a blog. For my own gratification and curiosity perhaps take up the paint on canvas for I have the tools and a giant easel upstairs.

History

I looked back to last year to figure what entertained me. Not watching TV (which includes sports, soap operas, movies and reality shows – except for political debates) made me wonder how did I spend my time doing nothing.

I knew I spent too much time scrolling social media looking for something to attract my attention but only finding disasters, body counts and silliness. I used YouTube for my visual distraction.

There was some girl who had a Podcast of reviewing vinyl albums. She was cute and the show was short and her take on albums gathering dust in the other room was refreshing. I checked some videos on guitar manufacturing and techniques, but I searched for history.

Started out with ancient English battles and rulers as research for my Memoria, then moved into American Revolution, then Civil War, then WW1, WW2, Korea, Vietnam, Gulf War and… there is always another war. Some were recreations, some were historians’ descriptions and some were propaganda delivered to the public on newsreels to keep them paying taxes for bombs and with the country’s patriot spirit.

Then I delved into what it takes to be a soldier.

I have not had the experience of being in the military, so I had to hear the recollections and tales of the survivors.

I was given a Selective Service card with the possibility of being called up to go fight overseas in a jungle, but got a deferment by staying in school then getting a high number in the lottery. Didn’t even have to stand in line with a bunch of other boys in their underwear for a physical.

I understand those who signed up after Pearl Harbor or 9/11 out of wanting to go fight the ‘enemy’. I understood those who signed up because they had no other skills or talents and got guaranteed employment. I understood how the early armies were formed by either being donated by their feudal lords. I understood how local lads joined together to protect their land and women like gang members.

What I still don’t understand is how and why all these guys would walk into the line of fire in hopes to overtake the other guys in different uniforms?

It is interesting that of all the jobs on earth, the armies have a different procedure for training. Unlike any other job, where you go to an office or factory and work for a certain amount of time, then go home, the military has bases.

On a given time and place, the lads were lined up and place on buses and shipped into a detention center surrounded by wire. Unlike the cadet corps, they didn’t get to leave.

Then this ragtag mob started being degraded to lose their individually and separate themselves from society. Hair was cut, matching clothing was assigned, bunks in barracks became home and a guy who would yell at you started training everyone to act like a team. Everyone woke up together, ate together, walked in unison together, go back to bed together and rinse and repeat. Anyone who didn’t like taking orders were given the job of peeling potatoes or mopping the latrines until they fell in line with the others. After signing their contract with the military service had no options except the brig. To keep the units coherent, they would dress up and walk down the street with brass bands playing to be cheered by civilians waving flags. To be rewarded in good behavior, their arms were covered in strips and given jewelry. Like every organization, command was assigned by rank.

Everyone was taught to handle weapons with the ultimate goal to legally murder someone else.

In the mist of battle, it was fight or flight. Many were killed. Others were maimed. The survivors are called vets.

Today’s military are volunteers. Recruited by promises of training, education, healthcare and free housing. Don’t know when the shooting starts do they question if they had volunteered for this? In some countries there is conscription. The modern system of near-universal national conscription for young men dates to the French Revolution in the 1790s, where it became the basis of a very large and powerful military. Most European nations later copied the system in peacetime, so that men at a certain age would serve 1 to 8 years on active duty and then transfer to the reserve force.

As long as the news headlines the wars (though many miss the front page) there will be body counts, videos of explosions and the continuous grieving of killed as collateral damage. The local news will provide murders, domestic violence and mental despair. The weather will continue to become more disastrous and the homelessness will increase. Scientist will continue to find cures to mysterious symptoms while exploring the skies for unknown alien lifeforms migrating through space. Sports will become more violent and entertainment will flash to keep your attention. Politics will become so confusing that until there is a notice on your door, you won’t have any idea what our elected officials are doing. Children will wonder which bathroom to attend and why the library has empty shelves.

Welcome to the year 2025. Good luck to all.