Cogitation on the Past in the Present

 

cogitation - noun - action of thinking deeply about something; contemplation (Google).

Because holidays like yesterday's Thanksgiving are traditional and repeat themselves year after year because we choose to celebrate them annually, they often propel us backwards into cogitation regarding the past. William Faulkner, of whom I am not a fan but whom I respect as a writer, included the line, "The past is never dead. It's not even past" a reference to how history haunts Southerners in his novel Requiem for a Nun. This may be true even today, but let's face it. It doesn't matter what geographical location you inhabit, if you reside in the present and have a memory, most likely if some stimulus incites you into cogitation, you will fall back into the past. 

This happened to me more than once yesterday for one reason or another. I have a framed 5 X 7 photograph taken on Thanksgiving, 1998 of a scene at the dinner table encompassing myriad emotions displayed in the faces of the relatives captured. Two of the relations are now deceased, one divorced from the family, and three, children, who are now adults. I am the only person pictured who has managed to pass the test of time relatively unscathed. Immediately, though, the photo grabbed my attention and forced me into cogitation, a portion of which I voiced at dinner. The moment in the past became a topic of discussion in the present.  As a conversation starter, I asked, "What do you think Mum is thinking here?" My daughter's and my suppositions enabled us to reach an understanding of the past in the present sans haunting us negatively. 

Unlike some, I don't feel as though I dwell in the past, but it can be a useful tool to aid comprehension in the present. For example, before finding each other again, my man in L.A. (I have mentioned him before in this ongoing blog) and I were once separated by forty years. After we reconnected, we were able to step back to remember the way we were in our twenties and compare it to the way we are now. The differences relate to maturity, of course, but there is a degree of sameness. His mother, to whom he was particularly close, passed away at sixty from cancer. Consequently, he doesn't speak of her too much anymore. However, when I was out visiting him in September, I noticed that the rapport he has with his daughter, who is about the same age he was when I first met him, is the mirror image of that which he once shared with his mother. And to tell you the truth, even though he is a psycho-therapist by profession, I don't think he is cognizant of it because the past has a way of taking control in the present without notice. 

The past is nothing of which you should be afraid. It allows you to lose yourself in cogitation so that you can perhaps learn something positive about the present. Even if your past is ugly for whatever reason, the memory of it exists so that you can become stronger in the now. Anyway, most likely, you have grown enough already to handle a trip back to another time every once in a while. At least, you can use it to stimulate fascinating conversations. :)

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Golf as Life

 

genteel - adjective - polite, refined, respectable, often in an affected or ostentatious way (Google).

My father and his people were golfers, genteel in the positive sense: polite, refined, respectable: the epitome of white privilege, yet hardworking, focused, and consequently, successful. As a child, I didn't understand the purpose of the game. I surveyed the vastness of the course at Baltusrol, the family's destination on Sundays post church, and couldn't fathom how adults could spend hours using numbered clubs to hit the same little white ball up, out and about, often skimming the antlers of stags, branches of trees or worse, hooking the ball only to wind up in the woods, physically searching for it. At seventeen, golf was a portion of physical education at my high school, so I had to learn how to play it in order to graduate. I did, and ever since, I have been challenging myself to play the bittersweet sport, finishing rounds with feelings that are often more bitter than sweet. 

Without a doubt, golf is the most difficult sport to play. Any professional athlete will confess to that. It is also the best game to use as a metaphor for life. And if you have been reading this blog long enough, you know that I like to indulge in sports metaphors. Like life, golf is demanding, requiring focus and perspective. As the player, you have to step back and take in the vastness of the field before you decide how to proceed, what club to use. Just the right tool in life can often make or break you.  In golf as well as life, accurate perspective is essential. If you don't contemplate your course beforehand, you may wind up in the woods. Being myopic will get you nowhere. Your grip on the club could be compared to your attitude and mental acuity, necessary to remain safely on the fairway or on the correct, ethical route in life.  Finally, a genteel posture and unselfish aim will enable you to navigate the ever changing course. Life's virtue, patience and strict adherence to the rules of the course will keep you from hitting up on others in front of you and causing damage (possibly being accused of manslaughter–you don't want to hit or get hit with a ball). Although you have free will, there are certain mandates in golf and in life that you need to consider and follow to get you through unscathed.

Now I don't believe that people play golf intentionally because they view it as comparable to life, but I do believe that people like it because it is a game as unpredictable as life. You never know how your round will go as ultimately you are competing against yourself, just like in life. But if you take lessons, practice, go out on that driving range in order to prepare (meaning get yourself a solid education and internship), you have a better chance at success albeit there are no guarantees. In golf and in life, you will have good shots that amount to days and bad shots that amount to days; ergo, a genteel you will need to accept both since life is a balance. Yet despite the inevitable frustrations, you stay in the game and play for the highs, the unforgettable drives, chips, and putts that send the ball into the hole as a birdie or eagle. The moments of triumph on and off the course are what we live for and what we appreciate and cherish when we reach the end of the game we call life.

Happy Thanksgiving to all of you Americans out there! 

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The Marmoreal Fountain of Youth

  

marmoreal - adjective - made of or likened to marble (Google).

Ever since the 16th century explorer Juan Ponce deLeon embarked from his homeland of Spain to find the Fountain of Youth, most of us have been searching for it as well. The irony is that deLeon thought it would be in Florida, a contemporary Mecca where thousands around seventy years old flock to retire each year. In fact, so many reside there now that it has been labeled, "God's waiting room," a far cry from the "Spring of Perpetual Pimples" or Peter Pan's Never, Neverland. Like deLeon, the septuagenarians arrive in Miami and other Floridian hot spots in pursuit of eternal adolescence, and may act like teenagers, but they are never quite able to recapture the whole kit and caboodle as they can only go so far when it comes to hiding their actual ages. 

Americans spend a lot of money annually trying to deceive people out of guessing how old they are. Some celebrities, like Cher and Jane Fonda, have made an art form out of cosmetic surgery but wind up looking like marmoreal statues instead. In fact, they appear less real than their wax counterparts at Madame Tussands, which is unfortunate. I, for one, can pull off being twenty years younger than my actual number, much to the frustration of my musical partner, ML. She is five years my senior, but when we entertain as a duo in assisted living facilities (where people seem to be proud to reveal their advanced ages), the residents seem to think that I am her daughter, which is maddening to ML. To prevent her from doing injury to the innocent, I usually make light of the situation, point to ML and say to the conjecturer, "No, I'm actually her mother." In consequence, we all laugh and continue with the program. Yet still, ML winds up feeling insulted. And I can't blame her.

If you Ponce deLeons out there want to look and feel younger than you are, it isn't as difficult or expensive as you think. Sure, genetics, something you can't control, plays a prominent role in how you age; however, there are a few things you can do to keep people wondering just how old you are. For one, lose weight. Try to regain your youthful figure by eating healthy foods and working out. Yes, it is hard, but doable. Another would be to keep the grays away by covering them and then grow out your hair. From a distance, no one will think you are over thirty. Yet another is to shop for clothes at Forever 21. If you lose those pounds, you'll be surprised at how good you look in the latest fashions. Of course, stay away from too much sun. If you need to be out in it, wear sunscreen. Applying some moisturizer with retinol and collagen each night won't hurt either. Last but not least, concentrate on rejuvenating your ancient thoughts. Think young by embracing a sense of humor. You will wind up smiling a lot (Those vertical lines around your mouth will disappear.) and laughing heartily and frequently so that you don't resemble anything marmoreal. 

Realistically, all fountains that are constructed tend to be marmoreal, even the young ones, so it's best not to head in the direction of the Fountain of Youth. Concentrate on the inside of yourself, and the outside will take care of itself. After all, "you are as young as you feel." 

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Munificence and Turkeys

 

munificence - noun - quality or action of being lavishly generous; great generosity (Google).

It may be rare, but on occasion, particularly around the holidays, generosity can be seen in abundance. Yet if you are not in the right place at the right time, it is possible to miss it. Fortunately, today I positioned myself serendipitously in just the correct spot so that I could witness first hand what many cynics might consider to be up there with a lunar eclipse in terms of frequency: munificence.

In remembrance of Thanksgiving, a holiday that reeks of atavistic magnanimity (Think: Native Americans feeding Pilgrims and vice versa), I had signed up to volunteer for the Community Food Bank of New Jersey's annual turkey drive to be held at a local elementary school. This morning, I showed up on time, 8:45, and was told that an anonymous someone had assigned me the leadership role of captain, a bit disconcerting as I had not been informed previously and had no knowledge of the job's responsibilities. So I did what I normally do under similar circumstances: I proceeded to "wing it." You know, go with the flow of things. 

The flow of things surprised me so pleasantly that after my shift was over and done with, I was floating on Cloud 9 for the remainder of the day. From 9 until 11:30 a.m., people stopped by with car loads of groceries-non perishables and frozen turkeys—that we volunteers carried to a parked truck poised to take the donations to a warehouse where they would be distributed. In two hours time, we had collected 35 turkeys and filled numerous bins with boxed and canned food for hungry families throughout the State. The other locations throughout the county also seemed to be doing as well or better. Because I did leave after three hours, I do not know how many additional turkeys and other items were dropped off, but I would predict the same amount or better. 

No doubt, our turkey drive was one of many that happened or is happening or will be happening throughout the United States this week. Strangers are stepping up to satiate the stomachs of strangers. Magnificent munificence is becoming a reality. What a concept. Wouldn't it be nice if we could all embrace and practice it daily? 

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Love vs. Sex after Sixty

 

prurient - adjective - having or encouraging an excessive interest in sexual matters (Google).

Between what I heard on a New York radio show this morning and what my hairdresser proposed to me yesterday whilst running his fingers through my hair, I am beginning to think that men approaching or past sixty are prurient scientists or gymnasts as opposed to bonafide romantics who feel that love should figure into the sex somewhere. Somewhere along the lines, if I start sounding like Carrie Bradshaw, please forgive me, but I've got to model myself after someone :). 

Let's start with the broadcast. Labeled as "Strange News," the segment involved notorious bad boy, divorced Don Johnson, 70, whom Andy Cohen recently interviewed on Bravo. Apparently, Don is still the Don Juan, satiating numerous female lovers, whom he referred to as his "satisfied customers" in and out of the sack. He has sex down to "a science," or so he confessed. Very interesting. So observation, experimentation, and hypothesis ostensibly are part of the plan in the feathers? Hmm, I suppose that makes sense.

My fifty-nine-year-old, divorced hairdresser, on the other hand, is not quite as scientific as Johnson is since he views sex as more of a sport. Although he is dating someone steadily at the moment, he generously offered me a role in his backroom calisthenics, which I declined for reasons of ethics and morality. I am involved with someone whom I genuinely love and have no desire to cheat on him. My stylist couldn't seem to fathom why ethics, morality, or love should have anything to do with his partnered exercise routine, imploring, "Why can't we just have fun?" Ah, let me think. I guess it has something to do with doing the right thing, Antonio?  

I know there are women sixty and over out there who do see themselves as prurient scientists or athletes, but I'm not one of them. When I make love to a man, I like to be honest and actually be in love with him. And like Carrie Bradshaw, I'd like the feeling to be mutual. We romantics tend to want the real thing when it comes to love, the whole package, including the mind-blowing sex because what makes it so good is not the "science" or the sport, but genuine emotions. 

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Maxims from God?

 

maxim - noun - a brief statement expressing a general truth or rule of conduct (Google).

Sometimes I think that God might very well speak to us by way of placards deposited within our sight lines. Now, I am not referring to billboards that are currently electronically manufactured to display multiple advertisements in a series, one folding into another and another and another within a given time frame. I actually noticed one like this on Park Avenue in New York City a couple of weeks ago, and it stunned me to think that the boulevard of refinement that I once knew well as a resident is actually transitioning into another Times Square. But I digress. What I am suggesting is that every once in awhile, we walk into some store or office or home, and a maxim will either be engraved in a paperweight of stone, silver, wood or framed as a print or stenciled on a wall, expressions of veracity or just behaviors that we should have learned in kindergarten. Some messages, the ones that are obviously not emanating from God or just Goodness incarnate, can be snarky. For instance, my daughter, who isn't all that keen on some of our relations, used to own a wooden paddle with something like "Friends are welcome; relatives can book a room elsewhere" painted on it. Although I wouldn't classify it as a maxim per se; there is a degree of candor inherent in the directive that we've all embraced but never actually spoken outrightly at one time or another :). 

Today, while I was waiting to get my hair done at my favorite local salon, I caught sight of an authentic maxim, one that theoretically could have come directly from the lips of angels since the actual speaker was not identified: "Live every minute with love in your heart, grace in your step, and gratitude in your soul." A reminder like this is timeless, always relevant. It makes me wonder, and maybe you, too, why so many people do choose to ignore perfectly good advice like this. Sometimes it is smart to read the writing on the wall, literally, and take ownership of it. I would like to think that most really do want to be the best versions of themselves but fall short as they are "only human." It is as though we convince ourselves that perfection is impossible due to circumstances beyond our control. Is this the right thing to do? Maybe. Maybe not.

I shall leave you with some food for thought: If the technologically advanced signboards on Park Avenue and Times Square as well as along the Pennsylvania Turnpike and elsewhere were to feature maxims like the one my hairdresser chose to make into somewhat of a marquee, would we be more united in ideology as a country? 

Hmm.

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Nomenclature Nowadays

 

nomenclature - noun - a term or terms applied to someone or something (Google).

I am convinced that we are living in an age of rapid alternations to language. New neologisms and nomenclature abound, making it nearly impossible to keep up, particularly if you are over sixty. 

I first noticed a few changes in the early 2000s when I was teaching language arts, a.k.a. English, in a middle school here in Jersey. Seemingly, the terminology migrated from comprehensible to abstruse overnight, particularly in the field of special education. Being that I had a number of "classified" students in my classroom, I had to be especially aware of their individual needs by law. Ostensibly, there were so many labels available as there were so many distinctive cases that numbers and initials started to spring up left and right like weeds on a baseball diamond. One that I pulled up time and time again was the "504," meaning that the student did not belong under the nomenclature of Special Ed but owned a few idiosyncrasies (i.e. learning disabilities) to warrant accommodations, such as more time in testing situations. Another esoteric emblem was the IEP, a lengthy document including the special ed student's learning maladies and recommendations for modifications. If you aren't in education, even by now, you are probably exhausted. Exactly. 

The other night, one of my friends, who just happens to be a reality TV personality, and his wife, a very close friend of mine from high school and college, joined my daughter and me for dinner. Two of the sundry topics of conversation were neologisms and nomenclature. My daughter introduced "cuffed" as a current synonym for what my generation used to call "going steady," or just being polymorphously perverse with one person of either sex for a period of a few months (serial monogamy). We three seniors got a kick out of "cuffed," probably because it made us think of another, older tag, S&M. But let's not go there and say we did. 

For whatever reason, because of the recent yet constant evolution of the English language, linguistics will always be a dynamic field of study. Fortunately, if you associate with young people, you won't have to enroll in a college class or do much internet research into the recent adjustments and additions to the vocabulary because you'll be in the presence of experts who are more than happy to share what they know. Personally, though, I'd rather speak softly and carry a big stick than have to use some of the nomenclature nowadays :).

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Heartbreak as Fait Accompli

 

fait accompli - noun - a thing that has already happened or been decided beforehand, leaving the affected with no option but to accept it (Google).

There are aspects of life that are so commonly experienced that they should be filed under the nomenclature of Fait Accompli. Heartbreak is just one of those things that most of us who offer up our vulnerability like a ritual sacrifice are fated to encounter at least once. But how do we survive if the miscreant manages to keep on returning like a disliked relation who continues to land on our doorstep without prior invitations? It isn't easy, but it is doable. 

Last night, I called an old friend of mine who dates back forty years, an elegant woman who is in her late eighties, whom I once supervised when we both worked at Group W Satellite Communications in Manhattan. Mu is one of the few women who is timeless. Freely floating in a lake of youthful looks and demeanor, she just can't seem to be moored to any chronological category or stereotype, which is why she and I became fast friends in the first place despite a twenty-five-year age gap. What we both have in common is that we are terribly addicted to love or just romance. Mu, the epitome of white privilege due to her father's wealth as a successful Californian entrepreneur, was once included on the A list in Hollywood and Paris, attending Princess Grace of Monaco's wedding as well as other chic events reserved only for the elite. As she has always owned the poise and beauty of an Audrey Hepburn, she can brag that she once had the names of many moguls scribbled on her dance card. Needless to say, she has had her heart broken more than once even though I'm sure that she has broken more than one or two herself. Anyway, in our phone conversation, she recalled the succession of heartbreaks that I have had over the years and asked me how I have been able to overcome them. Not in the mood to return to the past, I just said, "I've just rolled with them." Translation: I have picked myself up, dusted myself off, and kept on going, but not before writing a poem or song about the person, which definitely helps. Vindictive? Sort of. Honest? Yes! 

 The truth is if you are a creative person, you can shift gears pretty easily after heartbreak even though the fissures and dents in the car can't easily be repaired. If the car still runs–meaning you are alive and well–you can continue the journey, thankful for the gas in the engine, a.k.a. the memories that are sweet as opposed to bitter, that keeps the vehicle on the road. 

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Vantage Point and the Enigmatic Gridiron

 

enigma - noun - a thing or person that is mysterious, puzzling or hard to understand (Google).

Often your vantage point in life can alter your perception, and ergo perspective, so as to create or resolve any enigmas you find yourself contemplating. True clarity can come when you are in certain situations, and you can actually see that they are the missing pieces to the jigsaw puzzle. In order to do this, you may have to step back and take in the whole view, which is often not easy. 

Case in point: This past weekend, my daughter cajoled me into driving six hours with her out to Pittsburgh, PA to attend a college football game between UNC, her alma mater, and Pitt at Heinz Field, where the Steelers play. Since I like football, was brought up on it, and she offered to buy the tickets, I couldn't say no. Somehow she managed to get two seats right on the fifty yard line, just behind the Gatorade and Carolina blue-and-white backs of the UNC team. In sixty-two years of attending live games (My parents used to wheel infant me to Bucknell games in a pram.), I had never occupied seats so close to the action. Previously, conversely, friends, family and I would sit in the nose-bleeds in the rows much closer to Heaven. What I discovered this time around was that being so close can radically change your viewpoint. From that angle, the coach's, I could barely discern the ball from the huddled bodies, could not perceive the plays well, and heard and felt the pain of the players on impact when tackled. Previously, conversely, from the celestial seats, I could notice and follow the ball, could watch the plays form, and could remain pleasantly ignorant of the sport's true brutality. From that height, the ball game resembled an intricately choreographed ballet. In short, the distance lent a degree of enchantment. How enigmatic of the gridiron to enlighten me as to the importance of perception and its influence on perspective!

Like most sports, football can be used as a metaphor for life. What I learned from this recent experience as a spectator is that sometimes when you are too close to something, you become immersed in self-inflicted chaos and cannot see the forest through the trees. This happens when you become so wrapped up in whatever it is that is "in your face" at present. And it could be anything or anyone. As a result, you might wind up asking questions to which there are no clear answers. The solution could be to step back (perhaps in time, if necessary) and take in the big picture that includes not only your perspective, but the viewpoints of others as well. This approach might just prevent the problem from tackling you over and over again. And who wants that? You may not be able to make it to the goal unscathed, few rarely do, but you will make it regardless, but only with a full view of the gridiron. 

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Separating the Art from the Artist

 

attenuate - verb - to reduce in value, force or effect (Google).

Every once in a blue moon, I treat myself to what metaphorically is a leisurely stroll in the park: a scan-through of The New York Times, a periodical that has always maintained an impressive reputation. As it is impossible to read all of the articles in less than an entire day, I usually page through until I get to the Op-Ed section just to see who is opining on what controversial topics are the forefront of discussion these days. Whilst skimming the section yesterday, as a professional entertainer/singer-songwriter, my eyes immediately directed me to a piece related to the creative realm. In it, the writer questions: Should the art be separated from the artist in cases where the artist does not meet moral standards of behavior? And if one does not choose to do the division, does the creation become attenuated, somewhat sullied just because the creator is amoral? If so, should both the art and artist be blacklisted or blotted out for all time? 

Personally, I believe that art can and must be viewed separately from the artist. Fine art, a play, a piece of music, etc., are presents for all to open and enjoy. Just because the vessel is mentally ill or without a moral compass shouldn't mean we should all suffer as a consequence. At this juncture, I am reminded of the film Amadeus in which Salieri denies the omnipotence of God merely because He chose Mozart, an impertinent, immature narcissist, to be the decanter of the fine wine that is his music. Salieri is not able to appreciate the compositions as ingenious without involving the composer. And there are many like Salieri out there. Unlike these people, I can consider the art and bask in it without thinking about the identity of the artist. Why? I have known and have worked with too many innovative contributors in the field, and I can tell you honestly that they are all pretty much damaged goods. Karma, the force keeping the universe in balance, tends to work that way. It is as though the gifted person is made to pay for the gift in an egregious way. "The Lord giveth, and He taketh away." Of course, this is unfortunate, but it is what it is. 

The bottomline is that any miraculous achievements should not be attenuated just because the achievers are marred, imperfect, bereft of common decency. Their achievements, most likely God given, are for all to appreciate and perhaps learn from. It would be grossly unfair to imprison the art along with the artist when the art itself is innocent of all charges. 

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Circumambient Good Manners

 

circumambient - adjective - surrounding (Google)

Manners, a.k.a. decorum, is not a topic dangling from myriad lips these days. In fact, nowhere is it visible in the circumambient woke vocabulary. But should Emily Post's etiquette have gone the way of the Oldsmobile? Call us antiquated, but there are some of us around who still feel that politeness and decency and empathy are contentment's essential ingredients and should make up the circumambient climate.

No doubt, you are probably wondering what gave me the impetus to delve into this realm. Well, last night, two back-to-back, related occurrences breathed down my neck from the front, propelling me to choose this subject. Event 1: I picked up the most recent copy of TIME magazine, a periodical I read religiously, and randomly opened it to an article entitled,"The Rudeness Epidemic" by Belinda Luscombe. In case you missed it, the introduction reads: "The pandemic may have had a lethal effect on American manners. Lawyers are reporting ruder clients. Restaurants are reporting ruder clients. Flight attendants, for whom rude clients are no novelty, are reporting mayhem; passenger fines have exceeded $1 million this year. Re-entry into society is proving to be a little bumpy." I'd say so. But can we really blame the pandemic for our own inability to be compassionate and cooperative? Shouldn't we have learned to embrace these abstractions in kindergarten? I'll leave you to contemplate that. 

Event 2: If you read yesterday's entry, you already know that my daughter successfully ran the New York City Marathon on Sunday. A few days beforehand, a group of her friends drove into town from parts north and south to attend the race as loyal supporters, staying en masse for the entire weekend at one particular friend's home in the vicinity of the city. Last night, said hostess texted a lengthy tirade to my daughter, castigating the other mutual BFF's for their selfish demeanors as apparently, not one showed up at her home with a hostess gift (In fairness, they probably don't even know what that is.) or offered to pay for groceries, treat the hostess to a dinner out in exchange for her generosity, etc. Their clear attitude of  entitlement was abhorrent to her, a fellow Millennial whose parents or kindergarten teacher actually managed to instill in her something of genuine value: unmitigated manners. Most likely, she already knows not to wait in vain for anything resembling a thank-you note, but hopefully, she is hopeful that someone's gratitude in regard to the all-expenses-paid weekend on her tab might be reflected in an email, or at the least, a text message. 

What is on the sad side is that we as humans are indeed capable of much unselfishness, yet we don't tap into it. For example, during the marathon on Sunday, so many in the gallery shouted out their support and held out signs that read, "Believe!" We who stand in the gallery of everyday life must believe that we can do better when it comes down to treating each other well. "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you" should be everyone's mantra regardless of whether or not one is religious. Despite circumambient circumstances beyond our control, i.e. a pandemic, we can't lose something as valuable as propriety. As most kindergarten teachers already know, "Kindness is king." Let's spread it around like wild fire so that good manners are truly circumambient :). 

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Illimitable Determination

 

illimitable - adjective - without limits or an end (Google).

Every once in awhile, human nature will surprise me in a positive sense. Every once in a blue moon, I'll witness feats of true grit and resolution, and all of my doubts regarding the capabilities of my fellow beings will stand still, erect in salutation, recognizing the accomplishments as they parade before me. 

Yesterday, at the New York City Marathon, the 30,000 runners, (one of whom was my daughter) passing  in drips and drabs of motion whilst I observed, standing on the sidelines of First Avenue and later, Central Park, rendered me speechless. I had never before seen such illimitable determination and discipline in one comparatively small space. Along with his/her/their name and number, each one of the entrants wore courage, confidence, control and concentration even though by mile 23, most were in extreme pain, fighting with physical and emotional anguish, the desire to end it all and quit. Yet for most, giving up wasn't an option. My daughter kept up an impressive pace of 10.09 for the initial twenty and fell to 12.00 the last few thousand feet. After the race, she confided in me that during those final moments, it was excruciating for her to put one foot in front of the other, no less continue to trot in one direction. Pure adrenalin and an avowal that she had to finish what she had started catapulted her to the endpoint at Tavern on the Green. 

As my daughter's mother, I could not have been prouder that she had stuck it out and finished the race. However, at the end of the day, that sense of personal pride grew like a seed inside of me to include more abstract concepts, two of which were hope and optimism. If 30,000 people of all ages, colors, creeds, shapes, sizes, etc. could come together and do what most wouldn't–run, jog, or even walk 26 miles without respite–why can't we as a human race come together and achieve the impossible: solve our most pressing problems in an expedient manner? 

The potential of us human beings to achieve is illimitable. All we have to do is concentrate on finishing the uphill races that we have started. Anything is possible if we put our minds and bodies to accomplishing it. 

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The Trepidation of Fire

 

trepidation - noun - a feeling of fear or agitation about something that may happen (Google).

As humans, we are all too familiar with the feeling of trepidation. The seemingly omnipresent pandemic has only served to pad the pockets of something already endemic in the human condition. I get it. But it just seems to me that some of us transcend common trepidation that is usually fleeting into something more egregious: obsessive apprehension that tends to be focused on one thing, the climate crisis, for instance.

Case in point: The other day, I spent some quality time with what we, meaning boomers, would have once termed "old fuddy-duddies, " senior citizens who spend an inordinate amount of time complaining, particularly about contemporary issues over which they have no control. Basically these people are female friends of mine.When I broached the topic of a potential move to L.A. from Jersey, one of the four piped up,"Why would you want to move there? What about the wild fires? Aren't you afraid of being caught up in one and having it destroy your entire life?" My answer was a decisive and resolute, "No. We live in New Jersey and have survived horrific hurricanes, fierce floods, burying blizzards, torturous tornadoes. We even had a Californian-style earthquake several years ago, if you recall. Taking all of these trepidatious natural hazards into consideration, I'd say it's much safer to live in Los Angeles." She disagreed, pointing out that death by fire would be much worse than death by water. Who said anything about dying? But okay, I gave her that one. Nevertheless, to stay at the apex of the argument (I couldn't let her win.), I simply summarized my death-defying past and told her that I can't live my life in fear of what the future will bring. After my harangue was over, either out of incomprehension or mere frustration, she shot me a grim grimace, and the topic segued into garrulous husbands, which I described at length two blog entries ago. 

Trepidation, albeit a trait that cannot be erased entirely from the human psychological playbook, can surely be averted via refusing to get caught up in it. Being present–staying in the moment–would definitely help if you are particularly prone to obsessive apprehension.  

The bottomline belongs to Charles Franklin: "No one gets out of this life alive." So enjoy each moment as it comes until you can't any longer. Lighten up and toss out trepidation. Your friends will thank you if you do.

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Mountebanks and Deception

 

mountebank - noun - a person who deceives others, especially in order to trick them out of their money; a charlatan (Google).

As I was immersed in reading F. Scott Fitzgerald's The Beautiful and the Damned, a homage to a failing upperclass romantic union during the Jazz Age, I came across the unfamiliar mountebank. At first, I tried to define it myself, using contextual clues, but couldn't. Ergo, I did what anyone else would do: I Googled the meaning on my iPhone. The definition did not surprise me because I am sure that there were plenty of charlatans back in Scott's day who tried and succeeded at pulling the wool over the eyes of the privileged few. 

Of course, since human nature doesn't evolve over time, mountebanks still survive and often thrive today because they have so many outlets that enable them to succeed. Most don't call them by this sophisticated term, though. Most just call them "scammers," and they are ubiquitous. From Dickensian child pickpockets on the streets of Istanbul to Internet hackers that defy physical borders, we among the honest are at the mercy of deceivers. 

Unfortunately, we senior citizens tend to be the fairest game. I can't tell you how many times I have thwarted con men. Just last week, a bogus company got a hold of my gmail and emailed me an invoice for a product that I never purchased. When I called the phone number associated with the bill for more information, a man with a thick Indian accent attempted to take me through a litany of procedures on my laptop, most likely meant to render it vulnerable to unlawful invasion. After I threatened to call my bank to report the suspected breach, the individual hung up on me, solidifying my supposition: that neither he nor his organization was legitimate. 

Mountebank P.T. Barnum once said, "There's a sucker born every minute." Although all grifters know this to be true to an extent, we can fight back by relinquishing our naivete. We can educate ourselves about scams and learn not to accept anything or anyone at face value as there will always be con artists, dressed up, dressed down or invisible to the naked eye.

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Logorrhea between the Sexes

 

logorrhea - noun - tendency to extreme talkativeness (Google)

I don't know about you, but I have often wondered which sex, male or female, has more of a propensity for loquacity. To be absolutely fair, one's final decision could boil down to life experience. For one, I grew up with a garrulous mother given to somewhat mendacious monologues meant to fill up blank space. My father, who played the diffident, doting husband, blindly in love with my mother, forever granted her centerstage and never so much managed an aside to quell her logorrhea. Consequently, I matured thinking that women, not men, are scene stealers when it comes to talking. 

This afternoon, I was outnumbered and my theory, proven wrong. Four married women friends of mine, all extremely erudite, retired high school teachers, and I make up an inappreciable book club that meets once a month to discuss a tome of choice. After we had thoroughly dissected November's selection, George Saunders's Lincoln in the Bardo, and could go no further, the conversation segued into their husbands's shared talent for talkativeness. All complained quite unanimously and vociferously of their spouses' tendencies to go on and on ad infinitum sans respite, leaving them enervated, yet frustrated. One friend, a subtly fierce native Texan, married to an endearing artist from Utah, exclaimed, "I often say, 'Enough, you damn bastard! Just let me get a word in edgewise for a change.'" Indeed, each woman had a similar derogatory directive to impart. As a divorced, single woman, I felt like I had to defend the absent males and countered with, "Well, I am always fascinated with what my therapist boyfriend has to say." Their mutual feeling was that I would soon become tired and bored with his verbal contributions as well. Maybe, but I doubt that since I don't see us ever tying the knot. My friends and more like them are poor salespersons when it comes to advertising wedded bliss as none seem to know what it looks like even though they have been joined at the hip to their men for nearly forty years. 

So, gentlemen, if you are reading this, I beg your pardon if my friends have belittled you personally or your gender in any way. If there is a moral to this story, and there usually is, it is that equal time on the conversational stage seems an equitable solution. Ladies and gents, particularly those of you who are married: Just be aware of how long your monologue is so that it doesn't turn into a soliloquy, performed solo sans an audience. 

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Recondite Common Sense and Perspective

 

recondite - adjective - little known, abstruse (Google)

Sometimes I think that common sense is not only uncommon but downright recondite. I am going to tuck in proper perspective as well because often they hinge on each other. To own the common sense to perceive in order to put things in their rightful place or places, as the case might be, is a rarity.

Case in point: Yesterday, my daughter and I drove over to historic Shady Rest to cast our ballots in the New Jersey gubernatorial election. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your perspective, the place was packed with impatient, masked neighbors hoping to accomplish their civic duty as quickly and efficiently as possible sans any unforeseen challenges. As my daughter and I were waiting in one of two long lines of people butt up against each other to advance behind the curtain of our designated machine, I had time to survey the room. The first thing I noticed was the size of the space, which was capacious enough to accommodate comfortably the two machines, the lengthy table of volunteer poll workers, their urbane technological wonders, and all of the voters quite satisfactorily socially distanced in two lines if whoever had organized the event had possessed the common sense to see that half of the area was being unused. Everything and everybody were unnecessarily crowded into half of the assembly chamber. And unsurprisingly, few on line recognized the fact. 

I know the aforementioned is small in comparison to the much larger, but it remains an example of the point that I am trying to make. Common sense should not be recondite; it should be obvious. If only people would look around and truly see what surrounds them, they might be able to make a few positive changes to benefit more than a few others. Just saying...

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Atavistic Greed

 

atavistic - adjective - relating to or characterized by reversion to something ancient or ancestral (Google).

For me, Halloween is an occasion to get upfront and somewhat personal with children trying unsuccessfully to hide their true natures behind masks and imaginative costumery. Despite the creative facades, however, human nature is recognizable, notably atavistic greed. As we already know, greed is one of the seven deadly sins, most of which people sidestep today since few want to acknowledge that sin is even a contemporary concept worthy of notice. Despite our ignorance, when hit in the face with it, we can't help but call the spade a spade. 

Yesterday afternoon, Halloween Day, I decided to conduct an experiment reminiscent of William Golding's test of his male elementary school students that wound up inspiring him to pen Lord of the Flies. I bought large, movie-theater-size boxes of popular candy, enough for the first twenty trick-or-treaters, positioning them on a pumpkin-and-orange-plastic-festooned card table, which I had erected at the end of my driveway. Upon sight, the first wave of revelers ran to the table, screaming (Think the Beatles' Hard Day Night here.) various enthused exclamations. Despite the chaos, I stood unfazed, observing, saying little. What I witnessed surprised me. For most of the children, one large box a piece was not enough. Most started to take as many as their frenetic, splayed fingers could grasp until I authoritatively interrupted the obvious thievery with, "No. Take only one. Please." Naturally, they listened, especially since their moms and dads were not too far away, Their mere presence was a grievous reminder that the errant sons and daughters would not get away with any amoral behaviors that afternoon. Needless to say, after two more waves of masqueraders, the movie-theater candy lasted about twenty minutes, disappearing first before the snack-size bags of chips, Reeses, Hersey bars and Kit Kats. Between the boys and the girls, I'd say the boys exhibited more in the way of blatant nerve, not giving their unrepentant rapacity a second thought, whereas the girls seemed more apologetic and ashamed after being caught redhanded with multiple treats. Summarily, gender aside, atavistic greed oozed up from beneath the surface, lodging itself in the hands of these children. So much for innocence. 

Rather than comment/judge further, I'm going to leave you with the words of one of my favorite writers, Oscar Wilde:

"The more one analyzes people, the more all reasons for analysis disappear. Sooner or later, one comes to that dreadful universal thing called human nature."

Thank you, sir.