Getting Older Is Not a Felony

Getting older is not a felony…it’s just a misdemeanor.

I know I’m getting older because every day my newspaper has a new date on it.

My orange juice no longer comes in a carton but instead, a bourgeois, plastic carafe.

The box of Twinkies I bought right after college just expired.

Filling my gas tank, today, cost more than I paid for my first car.

The only person I used to know with a mobile phone was Maxwell Smart....

Time passes and life happens; that’s how it is.

If you’re philosophical you might ask, “Why does life happen?”

If you’re not philosophical...you probably have a good job...and you say, “Life happens so we have something to do and someplace to go when we get out of bed”.

And if we get older in the meantime…so be it, because getting older is nothing to worry about. 

However, not getting older is definitely something to worry about.

So why is it that we all angst over every new birthday?

It wasn’t always that way.  When we were very young—like 5-6 or 7 young—all we wanted to be was older. Old enough to go to the movies by ourselves, ride the roller coaster, stay up past 9.

When we were 13-15, we wanted to be older so we could grow a beard or wear a bra; get a driver’s license and drive a car. 

If you wanted to grow a beard and wear a bra, you were probably my 9^th grade algebra teacher.

Even at 20, we still wanted a little age elevation so we could be done with school, make money and get on with our lives.  But…even at 20, we started thinking how odd it seems not to be able to attach “teen” to the end of our years.

And so it began…the wary look towards the future as we began to feel the tickle of the past slipping away.

We whispered, slow down world…slow down…at least just a bit.

Now, as most of my closest friends and I approach the later part of our 50’s, we say…

“HIT THE DAMN BRAKES, WORLD… HIT THE DAMN BRAKES!!!!!!!” 

At least just a bit.

But I assume that’s a normal reaction…maybe.

When a friend of mine lamented, shortly before he was to turn 30, some 28 years ago, that the prospect was at best deflating and at worst defeating, I recall responding with the optimistic wisdom of one who had already turned that magic number, several months prior, that I looked at it as a triumph that I was still able to do the things at 30 that I could do at 18. Like tracking down a well struck ball to left field and even sometimes catching it…sometimes.

In fact, at 30 it was actually somewhat easier, because at 18 I waited until the ball was well up in the air, then ran like crazy to the spot where I saw it coming down. Sometimes I got there just as the ball did, and sometimes I didn’t.

At 30 I had more experience; experience to gauge the sound and angle of the ball coming off the bat so I could run, before the ball was well up in the air, to where I knew it was going to come down and get there a couple of seconds ahead of it.

By 40 I had learned that if I dropped the ball, to grab the back of my leg, fall down, and pretend I pulled a hamstring; either that or keep running to the parking lot and get in my car.

So, at least in my mind, experience trumps youth…and the experience of living trumps all. 

Now, when I hear someone lamenting the burden of turning 30, I smile and think to myself, they will never really understand 30 until they turn 40 or 40 until they turn 50 and 50 until they turn 60…and so on and so on.

Until then it’s just a spin of the wheel…every day.

So when you look in the mirror today, don’t shudder because the face you see is no longer 25.

Smile, because the face you see is the face of the person you were always meant to be.


And that's not too bad....


_____________________________________________

Every minute of life carries with it

its miraculous value, and its face

of eternal youth.

Albert Camus

Everyone Wants to Blame Wednesday

Ahem….

Hello….this is Wednesday.

Sorry…I’m not real good at this, but I thought I’d better speak to you directly.

I know you’ve been hearing a lot of things about me the last couple of weeks; a lot of things that just aren’t true.

First of all, let’s correct the record.  None of this is on me…none of it.

I’m not the bad day I’ve been made out to be.  I’m a normal day, just like any other day.

Well, maybe not Thursday. Thursday is a little…well…let’s just say “confused”.

Thursday doesn’t know what it wants to be: mid-week or pre-weekend.

It’s been trying to position itself as the real day to start celebrating the weekend since way back in college.

It just can’t accept the fact that it’s just the boring mid-week day that it is.

Kind of sad actually.

But I’m not here to talk about Thursday. I’m here to talk about the truth…the truth about the shabby treatment I’ve been getting around here for quite some time now.

AND all the misconceptions and lies that are being spread around out there by a management that has been, quite frankly, less than upfront with you.

First of all, I have never asked for creative control of any kind. Nor would I expect any.  Why would I…because I’m so special?

I mean, I am...more so than any of the other days, but that’s just because I am kind of the central hub of the whole week.

Do you really think Tuesday could handle that responsibility?  Tuesday…?

And is there any other day of the week that spells itself as “elegantly” as Wednesday?

How many other days have silent letters in them?  Saturday…Sunday…? 

I think not.

Plus, what good would creative control over any of this drivel do anyway?

What kind of topics have I’ve been getting to work with lately? 

Leap Day?Yeah…that’s original.

Reincarnation?Please….

Angry Suns?Yeah…okay….that makes a lot of sense.

Shopping forToothbrushes?  Sure everyone is interested in that…and that's just this past February!.

AND I NEVER said anything about wanting to be referred to as “Hump Day”! 

NEVER!

And if I did, it was strictly rhetorical….

So maybe now you can see my point.  All I’m looking for is a little better creative effort. Effort that’s befitting the day around all others revolve.

And consider this…maybe…just maybe…this management doesn’t want to resolve this issue at all.

Maybe this management just wants to lighten its load and is trying to lay all that at my day bed by painting me as uncooperative. Maybemanagement just wants to get rid of me no matter what?

So maybe that’s what this has really been about all along.

Did you ever consider that?

Well, I think you should….

But no…everyone wants to blame Wednesday.

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Out of Body…Out of Mind

I had another out of body experience last night.

Go figure….

And, as always, my body was annoyed at being left behind.

Mostly because the first thing I do when I have an out of body experience is make myself a sandwich…preferably a BLT…and I never share it with my body.

First of all, my body doesn’t need all those empty calories and second of all, it eats enough on its own, all day long.

As you might expect these out of body experiences can be pretty cool. For some reason, at least with me, they always seem to occur when the clock is synchronistically aligned at say…2:22 or 3:33. Don’t know why, that just seems to be the pattern. Maybe my spirit has a bit of an OCD thing going on.  

Everyone has these out of body experiences, but most people get a little spooked, so to speak, and immediately jump back inside and that’s the end of that. When they wake up, they think it was just some kind of a dream, that is if they remember anything at all..

I admit, it can be a little jarring, especially at first, when your spirit head is still a bit groggy.  You might think that you’ve actually slipped this earthly coil as it were. But then you can see that your body is still breathing in the bed, sometimes even snoring, much to your embarrassment.  Luckily there aren’t any other spirits around to hear, especially that cute little spirit up the block named Millie.

What?  I know…I’m married, but what can I say?  This isn’t life.  Here I’m more of a free spirit. We all are.

Millie, in real life is a 91 year old lady named Mildred. But that’s the beauty of out of body experiences; once you’re outside your body your spirit can be any age you want it to be.

Even more cool, huh?

Anyway, once I have my sandwich, I usually head out for a bit and take a spin around the neighborhood to see if anything’s going on...now or in the past…even in the future.

That’s another pretty neat thing about out of body experiences…you can actually see the worm holes and zip around the space/time continuum.  Just like Scrooge, without all the melodramatic ghosts.

Of course you do have to be careful because sometimes when you see the latest 3235 model year iPads, you’re tempted to stay in the future.

But inviting as that may seem, there’s a built in universal mechanism that prevents  that kind of time lagging thing…and that would be the Reapers.

You know the Reapers, those sickle carrying shadowy, cloaked figures who come a calling for you when it’s your real permanent out of body time.  Nice folks, for the most part, but they suffer from all the bad PR; millenniums of myth and legend to live down. 

But…like I said, really nice folks. They never show up too early and never  leave too late.  Unless of course you over do and over stay your out of body interludes.

One time, when I first started experiencing these little ethereal excursions of mine, I was cruising around the neighborhood, going in and out of houses, checking out which ones had 2 full baths.

I was a little on edge because this kind of spirit peek a boo was still new to me and I wasn’t quite sure just how much I could push the envelope without hurting myself. I mean, after all, your out of body constitution is not much more than gossamer and dreams.

So you have to get a feel for it and take it slow…at least in the beginning.

Anyway, I drift out of this tidy little Tudor across the street when I suddenly come across a Reaper…or at least what I thought was a Reaper, and I don’t mind saying, it scared the bajoojoos out of me.

I just about swallowed my spirit heart and began high tailing it back to my body when I hear this obnoxious laughing…and one thing I know, Reapers don’t laugh. That’s why they’re thought of as being socially inept and rarely get invited to parties, which also accounts for their surly moods.

Turns out this particular Reaper was just my annoying neighbor, Marty, who gets his kicks out of what he calls, “initiating the newbies”. 

Kind of chancy, if you ask me.  I’m not sure you want to go around mocking the Reapers. But that’s Marty: obnoxious in life and in spirit. 

So Reapers and Marty aside, out of body experiences are cool, if you take them for what they are.  Most people never even remember having them. Some feel a little run down in the morning but other than that they don’t recall a thing.  Not sure why I do, but people are always telling me I never forget anything…so maybe that’s it.

Uh, oh…this is weird.  I think I’m starting to have an out of body experience right now…even though I’m still awake.

Oh, wait…never mind.

It’s just that breakfast burrito I had this morning….

Aries Season

So, spring is here....!

Hurray!

I know…I missed it.

Because of…you know…Wednesday.

But I’m not going there.

Actually, it feels like we just skipped spring and went right to summer. 

80 degrees…in March?

Who needs Florida?

Well I guess the Floridians need Florida…or else they wouldn’t have any place to go.

I guess they could go to Alabama, but I’m guessing that would just make for crowded beaches.

So we better just leave Florida where it is.

Don’t mind me…I’m an Aries.

It’s just how we are.

We like to say things like, “Who needs Florida?”…just to stir things up.

And now, aside from spring, it’s the opening days of Aries season.

Kind of like the opening days of baseball season, except we’re not crazy about letting anyone else play with the ball.

It’s just how we are.

Besides, if we didthrow you the ball, we would only tell you that you’re throwing the ball back all wrong—if you had it—which you don’t.

But we Aries are also quite generous, thoughtful and considerate, so we would happily let some of you be on our team…as long as we’re the captain…and you’re not.

But don’t be late for practice…cuz we don’t like to be kept waiting. 

Ahhh…the heck with practice, let’s just start playing games…but someone needs to go find another team to play…cuz I didn’t think of it. 

Oh, and bats…we’ll need some of those too…and bases would help…maybe some uniforms.

Hey, I said you could be on my team…I didn’t say I had all the details worked out.

That’s why you’re on the team.

Geeeez….

Okay fine….be that way. I never wanted you on the team anyway. 

I just didn’t want to hurt your feelings.

I’m sensitive to those kinds of things…you know?

So now whose feelings end up getting hurt?

Right…mine.

Geeeeeez….

Maybe I don’t even want to have a stupid team anyway. Nobody seems to appreciate it.

Or….I could start my own league!

My own league with a whole lot of teams…and I can name the league after myself…and it will be better than any other league there is….and become world famous and make lots of money.

What…you don’t think it could happen?

Well that’s just the kind of thinking that’s keeping you off the team in the first place, isn’t it?.

And don’t think you’re off the hook about getting all those bats and bases…and uniforms.

Right…you’ve probably already forgotten about the uniforms.

Geeeeeez….

It’s not like they’re going to just get themselves are they?

We’re going to need a whole lot more of them for all the new teams in the league…and I’m thinking they should all be blue…because I like blue…. 

Who doesn’t like blue?

And hats…we need hats…but those super cool good hats…not those other stinky hats.

I don’t know who makes them or what they’re called, but you’ll figure it out.

What do you mean you don’t want to be on the team? 

Well that’s a bit selfish of you, isn’t it?

Who’s gonna do all this stuff?

What are you some kind of a Capricorn?

Still at an Impasse

I’m still at an impasse with Wednesday.  I thought you’d like to know.

Yeah…right?

I never thought it would drag out this long either, but that’s how these things go sometimes.

It actually looked like we might have a deal, late last night. My people and Wednesday’s people have been working around the clock to get this thing done, but when it was presented to Wednesday, it just walked out of the room…with attitude.

See what we’re dealing with?

And we’ve been nothing but generous with our proposals, especially when you consider we really shouldn’t even be negotiating at all.

We even put full dental on the table, which I know is important to Wednesday.  Especially after the comment made by Friday at the Christmas party this past year.

But I’m not getting into that now.  It was hard enough dealing with it then.

And I thought I was very reasonable when I even entertained the notion of changing its name to the much cooler “Hump Day” that Wednesday threw out there early on.  Not that I would ever do it.  Sure, in its normal usage, as in being over the hump of the week, it’s not a problem.  But I could tell by the look in Wednesday’s eye what it was hoping to convey. 

But we’re just not about that kind of thing here, and Wednesday knows that. It was just testing me. It was just happy I considered it…at least in its mind.

“Hump Day….”

Z had enough problems as it was with my mention of public urination…she’s going to let me go with “Hump Day”?

So, basically, once we had the new compensation package worked out, the rest was just a formality…at least in my mind. Then Wednesday starts talking about not only having creative control again, but actually writing its own material, saying any moron can do what I do.

That’s when my people jumped in and made the point of saying that not just any moron can write this stuff…it took a very specific moron…to which I took  offense.

Then Wednesday backed off, but just a bit, and agreed to let me write the first draft, but it still wanted final edit…plus a byline.

That’s where I drew the line, and that’s when Wednesday stormed out.

So that’s where we are with Wednesday.

I know this is disturbing to all you Wednesday people, but what else can I do?  I even offered 4 weeks off in the summer.  If I cave in to Wednesday’s demands where does it stop?  As it is I’m already losing money on Friday’s never ending medical expenses not to mention Monday’s tuition reimbursement?

Enough is enough.

Stay strong…we’ll get through this.

Too Many Rules

There are an awful lot of rules to follow every day, many of which are only implied.

Like only squeezing the toothpaste from the bottom of the tube. 

How many of you follow that rule, or at least try to?

Yeah…I know.

How about pouring your coffee in the cup before you add your sweetener and creamer of choice?

I’m betting most of you do that. 

Or tying your right shoe before your left…and that’s always after putting your right shoe on before your left.

Do you put your right leg in your pants first or your left?

Maybe you’re a risk taker like me and started putting your pants on both leg at a time….

Do you always wrap a napkin around your ice cream cone?

Do you lick your ice cream cone from the bottom up in a neat circular motion?

I bet you never remove the tag on anything that warns “under penalty of law”, even though you know you should.

You never remove the garment care instructions from your clothes, even though you know how to care for your garments.

You save that little piece of thread and extra button that comes with your new shirt or sweater…you know, just in case.

You always put your glass and plastic recyclables in the red bin and paper in the blue, even though you know the recycling people can probably tell the difference anyway.

Do you always feel the need to applaud after any school concert or play?

Do you always have to say a newborn baby is “soooooo cute”?

If a friend tells you their 20 year old cat just died, can you ever not say, “Well he had a good life”?

Can you ever say…”Well, it’s just a cat…”?

Do you always lather and rinse…then repeat?  You know you’re supposed to; it says so on the bottle.

Were you kind, did you rewind…always?

You don’t store Cds in your CD player…do you?

Using a household cleaning product in a manner inconsistent with its labeling is a violation of federal law.  So don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time.

However, reading the directions on a bottle of Windex through the blue liquid is next to impossible? But do you really need to read the directions on a bottle of Windex?

Is it mandatory to empty the powder drink mix into the container before adding water…or is it more of guideline than a rule. But it says so on the jar…so it must be a rule.

You always stay to the right and pass only on the left…right?

Always come to a complete stop?

Keep back 500 feet?

Always keep off the grass?

Ever turn on your computer without checking your e-mail?

Ever not open an envelope that says “You May Have Already Won!” even though you know you really haven’t?

Ever not open an envelope that says “You May Have Already Won!” without thinking of Ed McMahon, even though you know he’s been dead for nearly 3 years.

Do you call Poison Control if you ingest your mouthwash?

And should we really be putting a substance in our mouths that require us to contact poison control if ingested?

Why do we always have to “see more on page 4” when reading a story in the newspaper?

Why can’t a story in the newspaper just finish on the same page?

Do you always have to read everything to conclusion no matter how tedious?

If you’re reading this line now…I guess you do.

Too many rules…way too many rules.

But we have to have them, even if we impose most of them on ourselves.

It’s a rule….

Is Everyone Really Irish on St. Patty’s Day?

The big daddy of all March hoopla is here…St. Patrick’s Day!

The day when everyone is Irish…or so they say, and it’s everyone’s responsibility to dig out all their garish green sweaters and ties, view and or march in a parade, drink to excess and urinate on a public building, in broad daylight singing…”It’s a great day for the Irish!”

Yes indeed…the Irish are very proud to have you all on board….

I’m half Irish and half Italian, so I only get half excited about the whole thing. It’s a nice thing to be proud of your heritage, as everyone should be, and I do go to the parade and swallow my share of stout in the Irish pubs, but I never understood the whole St. Patrick’s thing.

But that’s probably just me, because admittedly I don’t understand a lot of things.

Part of it may be because I wasn’t really raised with that whole in your face, “we’re Irish and you’re not” thing. Both my grandparents on my father’s side came over from the old sod, and settled in this little town of mine, but never acted as if they were proud to be anything thing other than naturalized American citizens.  Same on the Italian side.  There wasn’t a lot of talk about the “good old days” back in the “old country” because I think for the most part, there weren’t all that many of them. That’s pretty much why they came here.

When I would ask my Irish grandma, Nellie, about Ireland she would think for a minute and say, “It was very damp”. 

My Irish grandpa, Jim, would add, “And hilly…lots of hills”.

So you can see why I didn’t really get all the parades and green beer.

I don’t recall a lot of Irish songs of rebellion being played or sung. To this day I couldn’t quote the lyrics to one complete tune, but I do still wonder who threw the overalls in Mrs. Murphy’s chowder…and more importantly, why?

My dad liked to sing “McNamara’s Band” over and over, much to my Italian mom’s “delight”.  Our name was part of the lyrics, along with just about every Irish name there is, so that tickled him. The green beer might have had something to do with it, as well.

I know a lot of towns have big parades to celebrate the occasion, but for whatever reason, St. Patrick’s Day is not a big deal in my zip code.  You don’t find anyone painting a green line down Main Street or a parade of pipers and Irish dancers strutting their stuff down the Avenue….at least not in the light of day

Sure, we have our share of parties and events hosted by various organizations and clubs, and we do have one very good Irish pub, that stands out from all the rest…mostly because it’s the only Irish pub in town.  But it is a good one and worth checking out especially if you like Irish music and corn beef.

You know corn beef…that tasty Irish staple served with cabbage that most of us only make or partake of this one time of year? But we enjoy it so much we always wonder why we don’t have it more often, and so we always promise ourselves we will…and then forget about it until March rolls around again next year.

Speaking of food, having both Irish and Italian grandparents meant also having the experience of very different Sunday family meals.  On the Italian hand, I was treated to crispy Italian bread, always served with some sort of pasta—which my dad said all looked the same—and on special occasions a big dish of lasagna, alongside a mountain of meatballs, braciole, sausage, pork and other items, swimming in my grandma’s homemade gravy, that were mostly unidentifiable, probably for the better.

On the Irish hand, there was always a loaf of Irish soda bread, no matter what time of year, always served with some sort of beef— which my mom said still mooed—and on special occasions…more beef, alongside a  mountain of potatoes and  lots of different vegetables that were mostly unidentifiable, probably for the better.

Don’t get me wrong…it’s not that Grandma Nellie, never served pasta, but it usually involved opening a can…so it was different.  Then again, Grandma Daisy’s version of roast beef or steak…well, let me just say…it involved a lot of chewing.

So there were tradeoffs.

But the thing both families shared was a table full of smiles, good times and laughs. And on those occasions when the Irish and Italians came together, I never saw one or the other think of themselves as being anything other than family.

So on St. Patrick’s Day, when you’re donning your green carnation, hoisting your 6^th pint of stout and waving your Irish flag, remember, it is a great day for the Irish, but also everyone else.

After all, when we say “everyone’s Irish on St. Patty’s day”, aren’t we really saying everyone’s just the same. 

It’s hard to imagine that anyone could ever think otherwise….

Unless you drink to excess and urinate on a public building in broad daylight.

Then you’re on your own….

 

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Wednesday’s Out

I didn’t write a post for today.

So don’t expect one.

And this doesn’t count…so don’t think that it does.

Wednesday’s out…for now.

So don’t expect a post on Wednesdays…for now.

Sorry…that’s just how it is.

It’s not that I've stopped enjoying writing these things; I am.

I just had a bit of a falling out with Wednesday.

It was demanding creative control.

It wanted more melodrama…more intrigue…more sex appeal….

So it’s out.

I was close to making a deal with Thursday, to replace Wednesday, but that fell through.

Tuesday was looking for more than Wednesday, so I didn’t even go there.

I guess I could re-up with Sunday, but…Sunday is kind of an elitist.  Plus, who’s to say the problems we had in the past won’t just resurface after a while…no matter what Sunday says.

So that only leaves Saturday.  But let’s face it…while everyone loves Saturday, Saturday is kind of slow.  And not slow as in it takes a long time to answer the door slow.  Slow as in it usually can’t even find the door slow.

Yeah, I know…I could take a advantage of Saturday and make a sweet deal for myself, but that’s not me.  So I’m just gonna let Saturday be Saturday.  It’s not hurting anyone, and it doesn’t need the hassle.

So don’t expect a post on Wednesdays…for now.

Sorry…that’s just how it is.

And I think in the long run it will be for the better. 

Monday and Friday will certainly reap the benefits; their posts should be a lot better. Should have a lot more depth.  A lot more layers.

Which is basically all that Wednesday was looking for. 

So there’s the irony.

If Wednesday had been a little bit more patient, who knows what we could have done toghether.

I just hope Monday and Friday learn from Wednesday’s situation.

I know Monday will.  It has to…it’s not very popular to begin with; it knows that.

But I’m a little worried about Friday. Friday knows how people wait for it all week.  So I’m a little worried Friday might get an even bigger head with all of this.  Worried that it might start putting some bad ideas into Mondays head cuz I know for a fact  they talk over the weekends.

Most of it goes over Saturdays head and Sunday couldn’t be bothered.

And Monday has that low esteem issue so it can be manipulated, and Friday knows that.

But I can’t worry about that now. Now all I can work with is what I can work with.

So Wednesday’s out…for now.

No post today.

So don’t expect one.

And this doesn’t count…so don’t think that it does.

Sorry…that’s just how it is.

Blame Wednesday…not me.

Daylight Savings Time Detailed

We turned our clocks ahead an hour this past Sunday morning, at 2 AM.

If you didn’t, then you’re late…or you’re early…one or the other.

Not sure which.

But you definitely are…one or the other.

It’s a little confusing…I know.

But that’s how life is.

I know that too.

What it means, basically, is that you pretty much lost that hour, plus whatever activity you would have normally been participating in at that time of the day…2 AM.

Poof…it’s just went away.

Gone, gone, gone.

Don’t ask where…just accept it. It’s better that way.

In the past, that would have meant “last call” was moved up and I lost an hour at the local tavern, not to mention the 3 or four beers I may or may not have consumed during that lost period.

Now, it just means I lose the hour I normally spend in bed, laying on my left side.  Now, at 2 AM, I just skip the left side and go immediately to my back from my stomach and hope the left side doesn’t notice.

If it notices, then…well, you don’t want to know.

So that’s how the time change affects me.

That, and I have trouble finding my socks at 7 AM again.

But overall, I enjoy the “spring forward”.

Suddenly the skies are bright again at 7:30 PM, which gives me so many more outside activities to put off, which makes me feel pretty good since I fancy myself a premier procrastinator.

In fact, I’ve been meaning to write a list of all the things I’ve been putting off, but I haven’t gotten to it yet.

Okay…that was pretty obvious.

But I was meaning to use that one for a while now and I never got around to it.

I did actually try to research this topic a little, but, Holy Clock Hands, Batman, there’s a lot of confusing history to all of this.

Apparently, back in the very long ago day, towns just judged the position of the sun and then set the time to whatever they thought it should be. 12:00 noon in one town might have been 12:28 in another. Naturally, this was problematic in that it made it impossible for anyone to ever be on time for a lunch date.

I guess, back then, without the immediacy of communication and travel that we have now, it really didn’t matter. It took such a long time to send a note to your cousin in Boston, from New York, to let him now you were coming to visit, let alone travel from New York to Boston, that by the time you got to where you were going, you’d forgotten why you wanted to go there in the first place, let alone what time it was.

I think Ben Franklin was one of the first folks to consider the idea of Daylight Savings Time.  I’m not sure if it was his observation, but someone noticed that even though the sun was up and at ‘em, by 4 or 5 AM, very few people were.  Mostly they were still huddled in their beds with the shades down doing whatever it was they did at that hour.

Don’t ask what…just accept it. It’s better that way.

Of course, the farmers were all up and about at that hour, but no one ever considers the farmers. I guess mostly because they spend so much time with cows and chickens.

So the progressive thinkers of that era decided why not take all that unused morning daylight and move it to the evening, where folks can enjoy it.

Except—again—the farmers, who go to bed early.

This idea was met with great enthusiasm, and while it was such an obvious improvement, it took several more decades before the idea was implemented, because no one could figure out how to actually move the daylight to the evening.

Hey, I said they were progressivethinkers, not exceptionally brightthinkers.

Then someone said, probably a woman who never got credit, “Hey, why don’t we just set the clocks ahead an hour?”

And someone responded, probably a man, who thought he deserved credit, at least more than he was getting, “That’s so stupid…who’s gonna run around changing all the clocks in town?”

To which the credit less woman responded, “Everyone can change their own.”

To which the townsfolk, including the women, scratched their beards, and said, ”Oh yeah…right….”

And that’s how it all began…at least according to me, which if you try to look it up, makes as much sense as any of the other stories.

Of course no one can ever leave a good idea alone…there’s always room for improvement. 

So it was fiddled with and moved around and even made permanent a few times, but changed back when people complained about having lunch before dawn.

When I was a kid we didn’t get the extra light until the 3^rdSunday in April so it was pretty much a 50/50 split with Standard time. Then that was moved up a few weeks, in the 80s, until now, where it’s been moved up again and we pretty much get a 2 to 1 split of extra daylight in the evening.

And everyone seems pretty happy with that, well, again … except for the farmers.

Okay…time for my nap. I’ve been nothing but tired since I lost that hour; I’m still trying to catch up.  

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Health by Numbers - Part 3

Part 1  -  Part 2

When your doc tells you it might be a good idea to have a stress test, what can you say?

Well, I suppose you can say a lot of things, some that might get you arrested but mostly you say, “Sure…let’s do it!”

Mostly because, once the possibility that something could be wrong with your heart has been put on the table, you’ll have nothing but stress, anyway, until you find out that there isn’t…at least to that 99% certainty we’ve all come to know and love.

 So that’s what I did.  I was actually 99.9% sure there was nothing out of whack in there, aside from the hole left behind by Marybuttercup Pennyloafers, so I thought it would be interesting to get hooked up to all those wires and electrodes and take a spin on the treadmill.

I walk all the time, at a pretty brisk pace, up hill and down dale, and before that I ran almost every day for about 25 years.  I didn’t do marathons but I actually took it seriously enough that I subscribed to “Runners World” for a time. 

So it’s not like I was sitting around letting my heart get mushy all these years, except, you know…whenever I thought about that whole Marybuttercup Pennyloafers thing.

Ironically, it was through an article in “Runners World” that I learned that the long term benefits of walking 4 miles was essentially the same as running 4 miles, with a lot less stress on the joints. It just took about twice the amount of time.  

Since I was getting to an age that required healthy joints, or it was at least recommended that you have them, I took that information to heart, so to speak, and started walking more than running, until finally one day I discovered I was no longer a runner. 

It was actually a nice discovery, at least for me, not so much the “Runners World” folks, since I soon thereafter canceled my subscription. 

So I had that going for me, as well as a pretty clean immediate family history. 

I only had to wait a few days to take the first part of the test, which is an "at rest echocardiogram", which is basically a sonogram of your heart.  This gives them a baseline to compare your heart stuff to the next time, when you're not so "at rest".

Very scientific...I know.

However, what you don’t count on is, in this situation, a few days can feel like a few weeks, and it’s only human to worry a little, even if you’re telling yourself you’re not.  Kind of like when you’re about to get on an airplane and you’re sure the plane is absolutely safe, because you know that thousands of jets make successful trips every day…but still, you’re going to be 40,000 feet up in the air, and it’s not like you can just pull off to the side of the sky and change a tire. 

Sort of like that kind of worry; you’d just rather not be in that situation in the first place, with or without the drinks, for an additional fee.

The first part of the test was pretty easy. All I had to do was lie on my side while this nice medical tech lady, named Gladys, ran this greasy wand over my chest. I think some people actually pay for stuff like that.

The room was dark so I was actually starting to doze off, but Gladys kept chatting me up, I guess to keep me awake. Every once in a while though, she would get quiet and let out this big sigh, which to you, doesn’t mean anything, but to me...the guy lying on the table…was very disturbing.

What did she see….?

Oh no…something must be hanging loose in there!!!!

But then she would start chatting again, so maybe she just remembered she’d forgotten to feed her goldfish or something.

A day or two later they called and told me that the test was normal, which you would think should make you happy. 

And it does…but then you start wondering what exactly does that mean…normal?  Not exceptional? Not the best heart we’ve ever seen?

Normal for who…a 100 year old man who smokes every day…or a 25 year old who runs 20 miles every morning?

But you soon take what you can get, and you do actually start to feel better about things…for a day or two, until you start to worry about how you’re going to respond to having your heart cranked up to about 900 beats per minute.

It also doesn’t help that you talk to a friend who just had her own stress test a week before, who tells you they had her running up a 90 degree incline, which made it difficult for her to light her cigarettes. She also tells you that she had a bad reaction to the electrode glue, which left her torso dotted with a bunch of raised circles, so much so that, basically, she resembled the underside of an octopus’s tentacle.  To top it off, she's telling you all this while she’s lying flat on her back, which locked up on her a couple of days later.

Luckily, having known this person for quite some time, you are not surprised by any of this so you just pass it off as an anomaly.

And it was, since the worst thing that happened to me was the doc caught me trying to take a video of the inside of my heart pumping on the screen, after they left me alone in the room for a few minutes. 

I never actually had to do anything more stressful than fast walking up a modest incline, and  it really wasn’t much faster, if at all, than what I do, normally, walking up hills.

I did start to feel a little of that burning sensation after about 5 minutes, as usual, and when I looked at the monitoring screen I got a little nervous because all the little pointy things that were going up, or at least I thought were going up, were now going down. But apparently that was normal too.

The doc did ask me, at that point, if I was feeling anything, which made me even more certain that something was wrong, but on later reflection I realized that it was probably the look of sheer terror that had spread across my face

Then they stop the treadmill and there is a bit of a fire drill as I am instructed to quickly lie back down on the table, while my heart is still racing, and Gladys starts rubbing the little greasy wand over my chest again.

Finally, I’m told I can sit up, where I watch the doc peering and probing at all the pictures of my beating heart.  And if you think the sighing was nerve wracking before, try sitting there while the doc does a double take, or what you think is a double take and makes little muttering grunt noises, which, to you, translates as…“Such a shame…”

But then he turns to you and tells you, as far as these tests go, he doesn't see anything“unusual” that would be causing this burning sensation, and that he highly doubts there is any heart related problem.

And now you really start to feel good about things… until of course the doc follows up with the customary, but of course no test is 100% and it’s possible it could have over looked something, but he’s…you guessed it…99% certain that there isn’t.

So I’ll take that….

Again, the bottom line is….I’m fine…am fine…and should continue to be fine in the very expected long term future.

Even the cholesterol re-do came back significantly lower than the original reading and, while still a bit over the norm, it’s manageable with some diet changes.  Z’s already got me eating about 3 dozen snacks of fruit, nuts and vegetables throughout the day, and she’s adding more fish to our dinner rotation.  She even keeps a bucket of oats next to my side of the bed, and if my ears weren’t so floppy she would strap it directly onto my head.

So that’s it…that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

But I guess the good thing is, while at the end of the day, or even the beginning, I’m in as good a shape as I always thought I was; now I have some scientific validation to back it up.

And that’s a good thing…mostly because it’s hot cross bun season….not to mention Irish soda bread, Irish coffee, corn beef and cabbage…and don’t forget the pints of Guinness…..

Health by Numbers - Part One

Health by Numbers - Part Two