Milestone or Millstone?

I am told that today is a milestone in my life. The occasion is my ninetieth birthday. I am glad to report that today was also uneventful. I was successful in keeping it low key and filled myself with the joy of a cholesterol laden dinner and the affection of my family. Life is indeed good when ninety years pass and one is still able to walk unassisted, drive an automobile and participate in a meaningful discussion with family. The challenge now is to keep this aging phenomenon from becoming a burden to family and a millstone for me. Fortunately I feel I'm up to the challenge (once I get this Zantac down)..

Anno Nuovo

Yes it is a new year. 2015 hopefully will see me become a nonagenarian. Now that I think about it, nonagenarian sounds a little negative. Be that as it may (had to get that cliche in), I'll take it if it is offered to me.

Anno nuovo (the new year) is not all about aging. It is also about the return of good TV and I'm not talking about football playoffs. Tonight at 9PM, "Downton Abbey" returns for its fifth season. The Lord be praised, Sunday TV, thanks to PBS will be entertaining again.

Play ball! Of course Anno Nuovo will also usher in my favorite sport, baseball. I predict that the Cleveland Indians will make it to the Series and take it all ( only an octogenarian on his way to becoming a nonagenarian would dare make such a prediction - some would call it a sign of dementia).

Not to be sneezed at (another cliche - 2015 must be the Year of The Cliche), this year we will be privileged to see the greatest show on earth. The race for the White House starts in earnest and will challenge Downton Abbey for must see TV entertainment.

The down side of 2015 comes tomorrow. Republicans take over control of the Senate as well as the House. The only thing they seem to have on their agenda is to make sure that the last two years of the Obama presidency are a disaster, no matter how miserable it makes the ninety-nine per centers. The light at the end of the tunnel is that Obama will toss politics aside, put on his gloves ( lets hear it for cliches) and make his last two years full of presidential initiatives designed to restore this country to the ninety-nine per centers. Yes he can!

Along with an Anno Nouvo there always is an Anno Vecchio. The past Anno Vecchio, 2014, has lessons for 2015. 2014 saw the most serious flaw in our great democracy raise its ugly head. Racism is alive but not well. Along with the cancer of racism, the militaristic posture of our police forces made its debut. If 2015 can see more progress in making the words "all men are created equal" accepted by all, it will indeed be a  good year. If we can stop the march towards a militaristic and gun toting society it will be a very good year.

Musings by any other name smell the same

To muse is to meditate. To meditate is to think contemplatively. To think contemplatively is to think studiously. To think studiously is to think painstakingly. To think painstakingly is to think diligently. My posts are not the result of diligent, painstaking, studious, contemplative meditation. It follows therefore that the title of this blog is a misnomer. Choosing "musings" as part of the title could be considered an abuse of poetic license. More importantly, only a muse under the influence of booze would use  "Museful"' as a pseudonym. Be that as it may, as an old codger I have paid my dues and claim the privilege of age if not that of a sage. Change the title? After some painstaking contemplation it became apparent that musings by any other name would smell the same.

On Aging And Caregivers

As life expectancy keeps inching up, it follows that health issues will become increasingly challenging. A ninety year old wracked with pain from arthritic,  barking knees and a back on its last few discs, finds it a bit difficult to celebrate victory over actuary tables. The problems of old age are further compounded when one's lover is no longer in the picture. Those fortunate enough to be sharing the challenges of old age with their spouse at their side, find the battle easier to cope with. The priorities of a relationship change. As the High Primal shared in her blog, "The older you get, the more you become a caregiver rather than a lover". A loving caregiver is worth two lovers anytime, anywhere.

This is not to say that longer life expectancy goes hand in hand with a debilitating illnesses. On the contrary, having a high primal, loving caregiver throughout life can indeed make a crotchety, low primal the envy of his juniors. More importantly, becoming a loving caregiver in turn, is a sure way to tolerate old age. In the meantime, the hell with the actuary tables.   

On Obituaries And Legacies

I'm not one for reading the obituaries. I should be a follower of obituaries. Not because of my age but because of my genes. My mother was an avid reader of the obituaries (what was unusual about her choice of news was that she read the obits as published in English even though she never had any schooling in the English language). I recall that  Ben Franklin like my mother read the obits everyday.  According to Ben, "I wake up every morning at nine and grab for the morning paper. Then I look at the obituary page.If my name is not on it, I get up". He would be frustrated by today's daily newspaper being delivered only four days a week. Poor Ben would get an awful lot of sleep these days.

My excuse for ignoring the obituaries? At my age, they might spoil my breakfast if my name was staring me in the face.Some people write their own obituaries. I guess they don't want to take a chance of anything negative popping up after they are gone and can't defend themselves. I would chalk it up as an unnecessary ego trip. No undertaker worth the bucks he is being paid would let a negative obituary get by him. Personally, I have found it unnecessary to indulge in obituary writing. I always felt that I would do something outstanding during the course of my life and at my death editors would be scrambling to detail the deeds. Such is not to be. I stopped pursuing a legacy worth any newsprint long ago. I'll have to be satisfied with a generic obituary. No obituary at all would be OK also. What is really important is that those whom I love remember me as someone who did his best to earn their love and respect.

Whoa! This is beginning to sound like an obituary and a published one at that. I assure one and all that such is not the case. Heck those embers from the dying fire of establishing a legacy might still burst out into a flame. Stranger things have happened. Realistically as far as the future of printed obituaries is concerned, its about as dim as my legacy embers. Most investors are convinced that newspapers are on their death bed. I wonder, has anyone written the obituary? That's one I want to read.

About Genarians

Being in my eighties I sometimes refer to myself as an octogenarian. More often than not, others refer to me as an old codger. I answer to either term, but when push comes to shove , I prefer octogenarian - its much more distinguished. I do not recall being called any kind of a genarian when I was in my seventies. I can understand why. Someone in his or her seventies is a septuagenarian. That’s a mouthful and sounds more like a body part. Speaking of mouthfuls, how about quinquagenarian for someone in their fifties. The reader may have noticed that I skipped over the term for someone in his or her sixties. That one takes the cake - sexagenarian. I don’t recall that being sixty was especially sexy but its too far back for me to remember.

So what does the future hold? If one gets through their eighties they become a nonagenarian. Crossing over to a nonagenarian comes with mixed blessings. They all have to do with health and mental capacities. If he or she doesn't bring at least fair health and a lucid mind to the table, they run the risk of being called a “ pitifullgenarian”.

The crowning achievement (assuming one is not a pitifullgenarian) is being able to give your age in triple digits. All hail the centenarians! (centenarians, lend me your ears or hearing aids. If all that you are able do is recite to your age, the trip to being a centenarian wasn't worth it.)

Once a centenarian reaches the age of 110, he or she becomes a supercentenarian. Like Superman, supercentenarians are one of a kind. Unlike Superman, he or she definitely has trouble changing clothes.

No matter what kind of a genarian one is, he or she would do well to take to heart the Buddhist teaching on aging: To respect our aging at every stage is the greatest kindness we can offer to ourselves and those we love. Simply put, as you age, try not to make an ass of yourself.

As Time Goes By

The more sand has escaped from the hourglass of our life, the clearer we should see through it.
- Niccolo Machiavelli

We should, but the damn hourglass sometimes gets a bit cloudy. As we age there are too many obstacles standing in the way of a clear outlook on life. Greed, an unwillingness to adapt to changes in society and infirmities all play a part.
In defense of the elderly,  although escaping sand has left the hourglass lighter, fatigue from a lifetime of reacting to challenges sometimes makes it an exercise in futility to try to make any sense out of today's issues. Before one can see clearly, he must have a clear mind. As Buddha said:

To enjoy good health, to bring true happiness to one's family, to bring peace to all, one must first discipline and control one's own mind. If a man can control his mind he can find the way to Enlightenment, and all wisdom and virtue will naturally come to him.

Easier said than done. That must be why we live in an imperfect world.

Declining Old Age

A lifetime of struggles to reach old age is in jeopardy. I understand that there is something called "declining old age". If that is true, I'm one confused old codger. I have always interpreted "declining" as becoming smaller or decreasing. Does that mean that my hard earned old age is going to fade away? I may be wrong but that sounds a lot like leaving this planet and joining the choir silent. If so, I'm not ready and respectfully decline the offer.

Perhaps "declining old age" simply is a marketing ploy for selling anti-aging lotions. If so, I'm not buying. Accepting old age is a lot cheaper.

One might wonder where I got the idea that something called "declining old age exists"? Damn if I know. I recall reading about it but I can't remember where. Could it be that declining old age has caught up with me?

Fountain of Youth In A Bottle

As many times as I have been around the High Primal’s toilette collection, I failed to notice one particular Jergens lotion dispenser. Holy Cow! She had purchased the fountain of youth in a bottle. The fountain of youth eluded Ponce de Leon but not the shelves of Wal-Mart.

 Make no mistake about it, the label plainly proclaimed the lotion as “age defying”. Age defying to me means that the aging process is held in check. I wonder how long she has been caressing her body with this age defying lotion? Can’t be very long. She’s an attractive woman and doesn't look a day over seventy but the aging process is definitely there.

A glance at the fine print on the dispenser answered my question. The damn lotion only helps to turn back the clock on the signs of aging. The stuff wasn't even around when the High Primal and I first noticed those signs of aging - that first grey hair, a loose tooth, a need for glasses, short term memory decline - on and on.

So what is an age defying lotion doing in our house? If I were forty years younger I might come up with a reasonable answer. In the meantime, “hope springs eternal” will have to do.

Whatever happened to Armistice Day?

You know you are old when you think of November 11th as Armistice Day, the commemoration of the end of World War I, the war to end all wars. Perhaps it is fitting that the fairy tale of a war to end all wars has been tossed aside. The reality is that the armistice which signaled the end of World War I merely spawned an intermission for the interminable wars which were to follow. To commemorate all these adventures would occupy too much of the calendar, so why not celebrate a Veterans Day to honor those who dutifully did their county's bidding. There has been progress. We no longer fight wars to end all wars.

It's Later Than You Think

Signs that the aging process has taken over:

• You mute the TV set during the mandatory butchering of the national anthem by a Grammy Award winner prior to the start of a World series game.
• You fall asleep during the sixth inning of a World Series game.
• You are annoyed by the facial hair of baseball players.
• You can't tell which is the home team.
• You detest "terrible towels" at baseball games.
• You could care less who wins the World Series.
• You can't wait until next season when the Indians win it all.
• You are writing this post while the game is on.

Octogenarian Screwed by AARP

The last organization I expected to be screwed by was AARP. A few weeks ago AARP was right on the ball and notified me that my membership was expiring in October and it was to my advantage to renew it without delay so I could take advantage of all the money saving benefits and services AARP offered seniors. After some soul searching about the value of an AARP membership, I decided to be supportive and  renew for another three years (at my age, this could very well be a lifetime membership). Off went my check for $43 which AARP efficiently processed. Today I received another reminder pleading for renewal of my membership with a disclaimer that my renewal and this reminder may have crossed in the mail. Fine, except this last reminder also contained a monetary incentive to renew my membership. Yes sir-ee, If I renewed, it would cost me $36 instead of $43. WOW, if I had procrastinated a couple of more weeks I could have saved $7 which I would have gladly contributed to their Foundation. Just proves that the early bird does not always get the worm.

On Depression

A senior visiting a doctor these days is grilled on a number of items. Number one on the list is, “Are you depressed?” I suppose that if you are an octogenarian there is a good chance that you would answer positively to such a question. After all, at that age, a lack of energy and difficulty in maintaining concentration is not uncommon and could lead to despondency, accompanied by feelings of hopelessness and inadequacy. Pleading guilty to depression could carry a life sentence of one Prozac per day or worse yet a visit to a “shrink” once a week for thirty minutes for the rest of one’s life or until insurance coverage runs out -in which case there is no alternative other than to start enjoying life again.

I submit that some depression is actually healthy and that anyone who denies being depressed by the state of the nation and the world is mentally challenged. The chaos in the Mideast, the ever increasing frequency of gun violence, a dysfunctional Congress, the erosion of our privacy rights and the futility of rooting for the Cleveland Indians to win their division are grounds for depression. Acknowledging this only shows the possession of high standards. These high standards can be accompanied by feelings of hopelessness and inadequacy when we contemplate possible solutions. The frustration which borders on depression only increases when it becomes apparent that those in a position to fix the problems are just as inadequate as we are, if not more so.

Obviously if fits of depression increase in frequency to the point where there is no interest in life, what was once a healthy trait becomes a demon (I guess this is what the good doctor was searching for). So how do you fight the demon? That’s what “shrinks” are for. Then again, According to Buddha. "It is better to conquer yourself than to win a thousand battles. Then the victory is yours. It cannot be taken from you, not by angels or by demons, heaven or hell." Meditate on that!

The challenge we face is to keep depression as an occasional visitor. If we can learn to recognize when it is wearing out its welcome we have won the battle. Embracing all that is right with life and being grateful for life’s blessings can show depression the door. Easier said then done?  Nothing ventured, nothing gained.


　

I'm in a cloud



Every time  I pick up the paper there is a notice of someone in my age group having ascended to the choir silent, the latest being Senator Lautenberg. The honorable Senator Lautenberg left a legacy but that is a luxury I do not have. Neither do I have the luxury of joining a choir. My 7th grade music teacher, Miss Hugo (no relationship to Victor), saw to that when she unceremoniously instructed me to stand in the back row of our choir but not to open my mouth. One might argue that in fact I joined the choir silent many, many, many years ago. Of course, considering my vital signs, that is debatable.

 Being eligible for the choir silent can be depressing but it is also a call for action. As they say, time is getting short - get your ass in gear.  So what did I do with this sudden burst of energy? I decided to go to the clouds before I'm dragged there. Yep, I claimed a cloud of my own. I've spent some time putting all my files in a cloud. Why? Just to prove to myself that I am not a Luddite.

 Before anyone ties this momentous event to the tragic tornadoes in Oklahoma, be aware that my files hardly made a dent in the cloud I stored them in. On the other hand, my blogs floating around in cyberspace may very well be unsettling to Mother Nature.

Read all about it!

I try to post frequently but I must admit that lately it has become more and more difficult to come up with a post that I consider worthy of publication. It is customary to blame any slowdown in activities on old age which although it is a cop-out, I'm inclined to embrace. I can't describe how I felt when a prolific blogger, Charles Leck of the blog ad astra, saw fit to post The Buddha In Glory this morning in which he wrote some flattering things about my blogging. Just the shot in the arm that I needed to continue on with my blogging hobby.

 According to Buddha, happiness comes when your work and words are of benefit to yourself and others. According to Tony, blogging is not for sissies.

Apologies To The Plain Dealer

Yesterday's post, "Shame On The Plain Dealer" went too far in criticizing The Plain Dealer's plans for curtailed home delivery. What I didn't learn from the early releases of the announcement is that their plans also include an E-Edition which lets you navigate a replica of the printed newspaper. As I understand it, you can flip through pages and skim headlines just as you would with the printed newspaper in your hands. Articles, photos, games and comics can be viewed with the click of a button. Cleveland.com and the E-Edition are separate entities.

If this is like the New York Times e-edition the change will be palatable. Still if one is not computer literate they are screwed. At best, The Plain dealer is joining the forces that say don't worry about today's seniors, they won't be around very long. Our business plan should focus on tomorrow's seniors who were brought up with an I - phone or Android as a pacifier.

Thanks to John Kroll, On Line Editor of The Plain Dealer, for setting me straight on the E-Edition.

About Old White Men

I’ve become an old white man and I don’t like it. Every time I pick up the newspaper there’s a quote from some asshole complaining about old white men or a poll assocaiting them with the far right. It seems old white men are responsible for the entire conservative advocacy going on and if left to their ways will return this country to the days of robber barons and puritanical society.

What really annoys me is that I have not always been an old white man. Obviously I was young once but I was not always white. In my younger days I was swarthy (I wonder if my being swarthy had anything to do with Hannibal crossing the Alps?). Being swarthy had its humorous moments. A countless number of times I was accused of having slipped away to Florida where I got a sun tan. Actually I liked being swarthy. It set me apart from the pale faces.

The years however have taken their toll and now I’m as pale as most Caucasians. I can live with that but I refuse to be labeled an old white man with all of its political implications. Even the thought of voting for Republican - or should I say Tea Party- values makes me nauseous. Some of us old white men actually think like old white women. Somehow or other that didn't come out right. Suffice to say, the hell with the polls, all old white men were not created equal.

As you can see from this post, I should more accurately be cast as an old white curmudgeon.

The cards dwindle down to a precious few

Just finished making out my Christmas cards - all five of them. I can't help going back a few decades when making out Christmas cards was a tedious task. I recall having to bundle the cards - two bundles, one local and one out of town. I also recall that the Christmas card list was long enough to qualify as a capital expense. So what has changed? Have I become so anti-social that my friend list is very short? Have I lost touch with my friends because of our mobile society? Has Facebook become the vehicle of choice for posting seasons greetings? All of the above for sure have shortened my Christmas card list but I must admit that the real culprit is age. I haven't kept track of numbers, but my Christmas card list gets shorter in direct proportion to my age. Friends have joined the choir silent in increasing numbers. As I get older, call me Scrooge if you must, I increasingly lose interest in sending out any kind of a canned greeting.  So why am I sending out five cards via USPS? Nostalgia? Heck no, a charity sent me a bunch of cards and conned me into a donation, so I felt obligated to use a few of the cards. Besides USPS needs the business.

Soylent Green Revisited

As the country  approaches the "fiscal cliff", it is becoming clear that both parties are ready to let the old codgers take the fall. I keep hearing that entitlements must be whittled down. Evidently, old farts like me are not entitled. I'm not entitled to a Medicare plan that adequately takes care of the needs of the elderly. If I had known years ago that this great nation planned to reneg on heath care promises, I 'd like to think that I would have handled my retirement planning a bit differently. Then there is Social Security. For years the budget gurus have been raiding Social Security funds. Now it is an entitlement that I'm not really entitled to even though I faithfully paid my FICA taxes while employed. Politicians would have me believe that it's some kind of a  gift of  that can be wrapped differently depending on who is doing the wrapping.

 I do not pretend to have a solution for what ails this country. Making life difficult for the elderly should not be one of them. I've never felt so unwanted as I do these days and it reminds me of the movie "Soylent Green".

The movie depicted a country in 2022 suffering from overpopulation, global warming, widespread unemployment, poverty, a shortage of fruit, vegetables and meat. Pick up any paper today and you will find reports about the danger of global warming, rising unemployment, rising food prices, soaring health care costs, and the graying of the population. Not quite the country portrayed in "Soylent Green" but similar.

The "Soylent Green solution" is not on Washington's agenda, In its place, perhaps they will come up with something like the "cash for clunkers" program which was designed to get old, inefficient vehicles off the road. I wonder how much cash my heirs would get?
 
( I'm actually not feeling as sorry for myself as this post sounds, but I am pissed about how easily politicians dismiss the needs of an aging population.)

Turning The Pages

Reading a good mystery book is an experience in restraint. As the plot thickens and the author teases with red herrings, the pages are flipped with abandon. The temptation to turn the pages to the final few in order to determine whether or not the “butler did it” is overwhelming. When the final page does arrive, the emotions are far ranging - from disappointment to elation,

Living life is not unlike reading a mystery book. Surprises abound and anxiety rules the day. Life can be perplexing, challenging and frustrating. Life is reluctant to reveal its mysteries. There is always the temptation to turn the pages to the final page. Some succumb to that temptation and leave behind more questions for others than they care to have and a hurt that never heals. Others prefer to read every word of life’s story and turn the pages slowly. When the final page is reached the meaning of life is revealed. Life was not a mystery story after all, it was an adventure.