Senior Moments

Corbin Point on Lake Coeur D' Alene

Willard Spiegelman, a professor of English at Southern Methodist University in Dallas, has written a new book called: Senior Moments , looking back, looking ahead.  It's a thoughtful reflection on growing older that has a lot to recommend to those of us who have reached, or are about to reach, our  biblical three score and ten years of life.  If you qualify, there is much that will have you nodding your head.

An observation that particularly resonated with Linda and me was this:  "Here is a formula for staying young well beyond the days of youth:  Grow old in a place where you do not think you belong.  You will feel like an adolescent, because adolescents always consider themselves outsiders.  Then, after decades, just as you have gradually habituated yourself to your surroundings, pack up and leave.  It is time for another, perhaps the final, beginning."

Wow!  Are you kidding me?  We were actually being SMART when we left our comfort zone in Southern California for the wilds of the Idaho panhandle two years ago?  We thought we just had tired of all the traffic, liberal politicians, taxes and  an ever pressing need to learn Spanish.  Instead we were helping ourselves return to our adolescence, though most who know me will contend I have never come close to even flirting with responsible maturity.

It's true we had stayed much longer in the San Diego area than was customary for a couple who had moved seventeen times in nearly forty-eight years of marriage, but it's easy to get comfortable when the sun shines and the temperature seldom dips or soars out of the 70's.  Nonetheless, move we did and have never looked back.

Originally our plan was to travel during the cooler months and stick close to home the rest of the year but Linda's cancer battle has kept us in Coeur d' Alene year round lately and that has been good.  We've learned more of the history of the area and made new friends because we stayed put.  Of course, we miss old friends and family but have been lucky enough to have had many visitors.

I guess what I'm trying to say here is that if you're thinking of a change of scenery once you've made up your mind to enjoy doing all the fun things you've been putting off because you had to show up for work, it may be time to consider professor Spiegelman's advice and head for a place "you do not belong".  After all, it may be later than you think.

A patriotic sailboat on July 4th

Sightseeing tour boat

Boardwalk Marina, Lake Coeur D' Alene

As American As?

When I was a kid in the 1950's the only "ethnic" food we had came in a can.  Franco American spaghetti or Chef Boy Ar Dee ravioli was the extent of the menu offered up by moms in our neighborhood.  My dad, brother and I actually looked forward to this nights when mom opened a can of that orange gelatinous stuff before heating it on the stove.  Pizza didn't happen, at least in our decidedly unsophisticated corner of small town America, until the early 1960's and most of us didn't know what to make of it.  We liked it!  Chains like Pizza Hut and Dominoes hooked us for life and made pizza a staple of the American diet that now requires more than 72,000 restaurants to satisfy.

The American palate has grown far more sophisticated in the past several years and it's not unusual to have a number of eateries offering the cuisine of Mexico,Thailand, India, Germany, Greece, China and Japan even in the most remote corners of the country.   Mexican restaurants are fast closing in on Italian joints in popularity just about everywhere but Japanese--especially sushi--restaurants are also multiplying at an astonishing rate.  

I've been a fan of sushi since the 70's when practically nobody else I knew was fond of or had even tried the stuff.  My wife and daughters had to be talked into it only to become even bigger fans than I.  There was a little place next door to the San Diego radio station that employed me in those days and many times I would be the lone non Japanese customer.  (They used to try things out on me and then laugh when I would eat them.  If I didn't keel over they'd add them to the menu.)  I think the sake helped.

Something about "those guys tried to kill me in the South Pacific" prevented me from ever attempting to talk my dad into a sushi bar sojourn when he was alive but mom, in her late 70's, had to admit "it was pretty good" when we dragged her to one of our favorite places.  There is just something about it that most people not only like but CRAVE.  

No question about it, sushi, like Mexican and Italian cuisine has become exceedingly popular in America.  Just take a quick look around.  There are sushi bars in cities and small towns from coast to coast--even IOWA.  It's surprising really.  Think about it.  If someone had told you even as recently as the late 80's or early 90's that restaurants featuring primarily raw fish would become this popular, would you have predicted it.  I thought not, but who can argue with delicious?

Now, where was I?  Never mind, just pass the wasabi.

Eat Me

Home Sweet Calaboose

"Hell or High Water" is an amazingly good film.  Jeff Bridges, as an aging Texas ranger, turns in a performance that may just be the finest of his career.  The Oscar for best leading actor should simply be mailed to him. That is no slight to Ben Foster, who,  for his portrayal of an impulsive bank robbing ex-con, should already have his supporting actor statue at the engravers.

As I watched this saga of a soon to retire ranger on the trail of two west Texas luckless brothers who are systematically knocking off small town branches of the Texas Midlands Bank, it occurred to me that most of us spend far less time in banks than we used to.  With automatic deposits and withdrawals, credit cards, ATMs, and on-line loans it's way too easy to scratch "go to the bank" off our list of things to do.  Banks are reducing brick and mortar locations and full-time employees at an ever accelerating rate.

  

Banking has become one more industry forever changed by the internet.  That's why it's a good thing that Lawrence John Ripple of Kansas City, Kansas was smart to pull off his latest bank heist while there still was an actual Bank of Labor on Minnesota Avenue in that city.  You see Mr. Ripple had an ulterior motive to his attempted ripoff of the bank's cash.  Instead of fleeing after handing a teller a note that read, "I have a gun, give me money", he took the money and then took a seat...IN THE BANK LOBBY.

When a bank security guard approached, Ripple said: "I'm the guy you're looking for."  The guard took the money from him and held Mr. Ripple until the cops got there.  It didn't take long as the Kansas City, Kansas police headquarters is on the same block as the bank.

When questioned by investigators, Ripple said that he'd rather be in jail than at home with his wife.  "I no longer want to be in that situation," was the quote.  He didn't elaborate further but I speculate it was either her company or perhaps a fondness for jailhouse cuisine that prompted this move.  Perhaps it was just more inexpensive than counseling?

"I just love them jailhouse tater tots."

Please, Remain Seated

Another wasted college education

Dear Colin Kaepernick,

As I write this it is Thursday afternoon and the 49'rs are set to play the Chargers tonight in San Diego.  It's Military Night at the stadium and all indications are that you, dumbass, are planning to once again remain seated during the National Anthem.   Where is Joe Montana when you need him?

You have said, "I am not going to stand up to show pride in a flag for a country that oppresses black people and people of color.  To me, this is bigger than football and it would be selfish on my part to look the other way.  There are bodies in the street and people getting paid leave and getting away with murder."

This is rich coming from a guy making millions of dollars for playing a kids' game in a country so racist it elected a black president TWICE and is home to countless other people of color who have succeeded in a myriad of professions for longer than you have been alive.

Okay, you claim to have a beef.  I won't begin to address how completely stupid it is that you have bought into the "hands up, don't shoot" canard foisted upon us by the Michael Brown incident.  All you need do is examine the facts to know that story is simply not true.  That aside, you have numerous ways to make whatever point you wish to make.  You could write your congressperson, petition, picket or embark on a speaking tour.  Many avenues of expression are open to you in this wonderful country of ours.  To refuse to stand for the National Anthem is an insult to all of the brave men and women of all colors who have fought and died so that you have the opportunity to live in freedom.  Your disrespect is also a slap in the face for those who protect you each and every day.  

....It is now Friday and I know that you once again refused to stand for the flag and our Anthem even during Military Night in a city that is home to countless veterans and current service members.  You got a few boos but came away otherwise unscathed.  Get back to me when you figure out how many other countries there are where you could pull this off.

One more thing:  Since you seem to like sitting, I hope the Niners give you ample time for that by giving the QB job to Gabbert.

We Could Have Done Without This

Besides hearing, "hey what's this red stuff" uttered by your doctor,  the worst thing he or she could say is: "it's back."
After nearly nine months of recovery from a stem cell transplant, my wife's cancer is back.
Son of a bitch!  Just when she had begun to feel like all of this had been a bad dream it comes back like a punch in the gut.

We got the news two weeks ago and it felt like somebody was pelting our house with rocks, or, in Linda's case, a home invasion.  Every morning the knowledge that this sneaky bastard of a disease had once again slipped into our lives made the temptation to just stay in bed seem like a good plan.  We're over that now and are ready to kick some large B cell lymphoma ass.  Linda begins with a brand new (just approved in April) chemo drug the first of next week.  This one promises not to leave her feeling too bad or--even more important as far as she is concerned--BALD.  After meeting with her primary oncologist we are feeling quite positive about this drug's ability to do the job.  If it fails there are other new miracles  of medicine to be tried including  the possibility of another trip to Seattle and a re-education of her CAR-T cells.  I have no idea what that's all about but it seems to be succeeding in early trials at the Cancer Care Alliance and at the Mayo Clinic.

Linda is a native of Rapid City, South Dakota and, as another child of that great state and longtime friend, Doug Steckler, said to me, "NEVER piss off a girl from South Dakota....No NEVER."  Steckler is a lunatic but I can't remember the last time his insight was incorrect.  She is pissed!  Cancer doesn't stand a chance.

What Kind of a Name is Marilyn for a Boy?

"Hi, I am a moron."

Major freak flag flyer Marilyn Manson, like most rock n' roll reprobates, won't set foot on a concert stage until all of the perquisites outlined in his contract are in place.  His backstage rider includes such beauties as:  "all rooms shall have private flush toilets (Porta Johns are specifically not acceptable), also "promoter shall provide one oxygen tank with regulator and mask for artist's sole use.  In order to avoid being late to the stage, or starting the show with runny makeup, the dressing rooms for both Manson and his band each require "one clock and one efficient AC unit.  Dressing rooms need to contain these items:  ten Gatorades ( grape, berry or watermelon flavors), two packs of Dentine Ice gum (peppermint and spearmint), French onion dip (fresh from deli, if possible), a half-gallon of two percent milk, and two bags of Haribo gummy bears.

To ensure patrons and performers are in safe hands, "None of the security personnel shall possess any handcuffs, mace, firearms, clubs, knives or dangerous weapons...under no circumstance is a flashlight to be used as a weapon."  If you're a patron of the event, Manson's contract forbids the wearing of spiked bracelets and chains of any kind.  (Obviously Manson draws a "classy" crowd.  ed)
With demands like these you'd expect the guy to actually be talented.
Guess again.

I think we should all have these kind of riders just for participating in daily life.  Not that you asked, but here is my newly created list of "musts" just for waking up each morning:

1.  I would like to be awakened gently like a lily on a quiet pond.

2. I would like my wife to give back at least half the covers.

3. Breakfast shall feature only cereals that come with toys in the box and contain either chocolate or fruity flavors.

4. All pictures and references to liberal politicians must be removed from my newspapers. (yeah, I still read them).

5.  No whippersnappers with their caps on backward allowed within two miles of my hacienda.

6.  NO WIRE HANGERS!  (I had this one before Joan Crawford!)

Uh....I know I have more ideas for this list but I'll need some more time to think them up.  It's not that easy being petulant and demanding.  Now get busy on your own damn list!

Okay, one more:  I demand permission to resume drinking booze if ever I find myself trapped between two or more boring people.  

Pull the trigger.  I'm begging you!

Miss Cleo, Chickens and Bats...Oh My!

Miss Cleo

As the wife and I took a little break from reconfiguring the house in the wake of a visit from our six year-old grandson Dan (Cocoa Puffs and Trix still turning up in unusual places) we both did some catching up on the latest news.  First of all I was saddened to note the passing of Miss Cleo who, you may recall, was always standing by to talk with you on The Psychic Hotline.  Did it catch her by surprise I wonder or was she dressed up and waiting at the station for the Dirt Nap Express?  If her obituary is correct it appears that she had been less than candid about certain aspects of her life.  For example,  her real name was Youree Harris and she was from Los Angeles which, last time I checked, wasn't even in the same time zone as the Caribbean.  What else was she not telling us?  And, it's obvious that the old Hotline must not have been getting the job done for her cash flow lately as one of her last jobs was doing commercials for a Plantation, Florida used car dealer called Uncle Mel's Cheap Heaps.  This, of course, begs the question:  Would Miss Cleo be able to predict when the transmission might take a hike on one of Uncle Mel's bargain rides?

Here in the Idaho panhandle we have time to relax and enjoy a slower pace.  The news cycle doesn't usually include major crimes like murder, home invasion, drug busts and endless freeway tie-ups.  Of course we have the occasional meth lab explosion but those seem to be almost the exclusive province of rural and small town America.   The big ugly stories we leave to the major metropolitan markets while we take time to focus on, well,  Miss Cleo assuming room temperature and items of local import.   Here in Coeur d'Alene there was a front page story regarding some old bag state senator--or was it representative?--who drove her car around police barricades during our Fourth of July parade.  She assumed that the cop yelling at her to back her car up and not cut through the marching Cub Scouts and Brownies didn't realize how important she was as she whipped out the old "Do you know who I am young man?!"  No, he wasn't impressed and wrote her a ticket which she is contesting vehemently.   Frankly I hope they give her about five years in stony lonesome just for being a politician.   It's a doggone shame that she was recently defeated in her bid to continue on as our local state political hack.  She had the potential for real comedy gold.

Another breaking story here in the Famous Potatoes state is the disappearance of the 7-foot tall steel chicken in Pocatello.  (This just in:  THE CHICKEN HAS BEEN RETURNED, film at 11.)  I have no idea what this monstrosity is supposed to promote or represent but do agree that it would look cool on our front lawn.  I won't bring it up for a vote as no doubt Linda would not be willing to go along with this stroke of decorating genius.  Women have no imagination when it comes to home decor.

A little something for the front yard.

Last night after finally agreeing that we had caught up with the news and our home had returned to normal--okay, as normal as we get--we relaxed on the front patio and enjoyed watching the sunset.  As darkness descended and we enjoyed a gentle cooling breeze off the lake, we lingered and congratulated ourselves on surviving a week of a six year-old's visit and how smart we were to move to the Idaho panhandle.  Linda remarked that there was a really large butterfly putting on a show near the tree just to the West of us and how nice it would have been for our grandson to see it.  Of course it was a BAT but I agreed that it was indeed a very special "butterfly" just to get her inside before she wised up and screamed.
I wonder if I could have blown that by Miss Cleo?

An Idaho "butterfly"