Sense of Wonder

I have once (or twice) been accused of being too nostalgic. I admit that it's true. I dwell on old memories far too much.

I feel a sense of awe when looking at old grade school class photos. The shared experiences of those days. Looking at the faces of youth and realizing that you had no clue how each life would eventually play out. Where you all would be fifty-plus years later. Many of us still around. Too many though that have passed away. I wish somehow that a book had been put together of each persons life. Such a book I would read, cover to cover. Every sentence, every word. Not skipping over the story of a single old classmate. Even those where the shared experiences was limited to just sitting in the same classroom, with no interaction beyond that room.

I often look back from the viewpoint of all these years later, shake my head and feel sooooo ..... I can't even come up with a word to express the feeling. Maybe like the title of the Van Morrison album, "A Sense of Wonder."  Wonder as in amazement. Amazement that often aches in my soul. If that's the definition of nostagic, then I'm guilty. I would love to time travel back to those days for a short visit. I might just choose to stay.

There's just so many things that could have happened at any point to alter each persons course. Moments that could easily resulted in a much different history. Things that seem so insignificant but that can change the timing of events where the influential factor was a matter of just a few seconds.

I look at the group photo taken immediately after my classes first communion. All of us, six or seven years old. Each one of us looking happy and innocent with no idea of what was in our future. I think of what I know of each persons life since those days ..... College, jobs, moving elsewhere, marriages, kids, grandchildren, those lost along the way, etc.. And everything in-between. Even those who just seem to have vanished over the years.

But I still feel that initial bond!!!

Old Days and Old Guys

I used to love playing basketball. I used to think that I’d never give up the game. No matter how slow or ineffective I became. I played consistently up until about eight or nine years ago, into my early fifty’s but havn’t played since.

As much as I loved playing, I never wanted to become one of those ‘old guys’ that I’d occasionally cross paths with in pickup games at the YMCA or wherever random games were formed. Those guys who couldn’t run or jump anymore but who survived on the court with the younger guys because they mastered the art of pushing, shoving, holding, elbowing, stepping on an opponents foot, etc ….. anything to slow a person down. I always hated those guys!!

If there were ever five guys in my world that I truly wanted to punch in the face at some given point, four of them would likely have been one of those old guys. I have a visual image of the particular real life poster boy/geezer for those old guys burned into memory. It was this one specific dude who was rather accomplished at getting under my skin. The memory of his name, which I likely knew at one time, has faded but the image of his low life face remains as clear as ever. I wouldn't be surprised to discover that he's in his 80's or 90's now and still pissing people off on the basketball court.

Up until the day that I quit playing, I could still run and jump without a problem, though many friends, upon reading that might ask: “You called that spectacle running and jumping?” Well Ummmmm Yes! It wasn't a concious decision to stop playing. Just one day I went home and never returned. The thrill was gone. It became a pattern.

Each time that I watch a particularly exciting game on television, I get the urge to air up my basketball, lace up the sneakers (I’d need to purchase a pair first), throw a couple ice packs into my gym bag and make my return to the court. But I fear these days, that I’ve reached that cheating for survival, dirty tricks playing, old guy phase of my life. I can tell whenever I’m called on these days to pick up the pace a little, be it either by request or out of necessity to avoid oncoming automobile traffic.

Another Loss

Received news that an old grade school classmate lost his life in an auto accident. Out on a road that I've always been a little wary of. Someone who I havn't seen since those years but a childhood friend whose home I was welcomed into several times as a kid. Life events can sometimes be so random with no hint at what lies just moments ahead. It's always a shock when you hear the news, regardless of what age you're currently at.

I always think upon hearing of the unexpected loss of someone that I knew, what was on their mind when they woke up that morning? What were they thinking of just sixty seconds prior to the accident? I always think how everything can change in just the blink of an eye. And also of the people close to them .... What was going through their mind just seconds before receiving the word?

Sixty ..... Plus One

Officially Sixty-plus years old!! Difficult to believe. Another issue to deal with. The countdown to seventy begins.

Received my first official senior discount today ..... and they didn't even ask to see my ID for proof of age. Even though I was more than willing to produce it. The lady just said: "Nope you're good." Kinda hurt my feelings. I mean, I don't especially want to be an obvious senior. I want there to be some degree of doubt in the minds of others.

Dreaming Of Hoops

Now that's why I watch basketball!!! Duke and North Carolina. It's always fun!! It's been on my mind for weeks to keep an eye out for this game. It felt like North Carolina was in control. Duke trailed almost the entire game. But they stayed close. It felt like they were getting out-rebounded. It felt like they were constantly getting beat downcourt on fast breaks. They were on the road. They could have easily wilted. But they stayed close. And they pulled it out at the end. 74-73. On Michael Jordans birthday even. The first college game this season that I've sat down and watched from beginning to end.

Grayson Allen was just an absolute stud for Duke. Just constantly attacking. Staying strong with the ball in his hands. Playing every second of the game and never looking like he needed a break. Amazing intensity yet when there was a stoppage in play he appeared to be so incredibly calm in the middle of that crazy atmosphere. I'll go out on a limb and say that he's NBA ready!!!

It all causes me to want to go out and get into a game. Then I realize all the aches and pains that I'd feel after just one or two trips downcourt. (I can't even run across the street these days.) Hopefully tonight I'll dream about playing in such a game. Because being one day short of 60, I think my chances of actually playing in something like that are pretty slim.

What, Me A Senior?

I don't know what to think about this latest development. The girl behind the cash register at the restraunt gave me the senior discount. I wasn't begging (or even hinting) for it or anything and she didn't ask for my ID for proof of age. She just gave it to me. And she pulled it off quietly too. I didn't notice until moments later when I glanced at my receipt and saw those two words in abbreviated form. (They must have a senior discount key on their cash register.) Hopefully she was just being nice. Like a random act of kindness maybe.

Or maybe it was a "Senor" discount? I can accept that.

The thing is, I'm torn. I really don't want to be considered a senior just yet, even if I actually am in some circumstances. It's not part of my master plan. But then what do I care what some twenty-something thinks. I have nothing against discounts. I actually kind of like them. But why can't they call it a ...... "mid-life discount?" I've accepted that label long ago. Well maybe not long ago but a few years ago anyway. I'm not fighting that demon any longer.

All-Star Bore

It's time to do-away with this annual circus!!! It's become totally unwatchable!!

196 points by the west in the NBA all-star game. What a joke!! There was a time when it used to be semi-competitive effort-wise but that was long ago. Why even bother to have coaches present? Just map out beforehand, who plays what minutes and stop the game at the appointed spots for substitutes. Like we used to do with youth basketball. I think you would have to be pretty self-centered to accept the mvp award for that circus. Those borderline guys that didn't get chosen for the rosters ought to be happy they were excluded. If the nba was truly concerned with their image, they'd do-away with it. You'd think that at least one or two people in their league office would recognize the travesty that it's become.

And the east had something like 175 points and still lost by twenty. I hope that they made some sort of defensive effort in the final moments to stop the west from scoring 200 points. But I doubt it.

You would think that the players themselves would realize what a joke that they've turned this game into. I sure as hell don't want to hear a single participant talking about having respect for the game of basketball. I'd love to hear just one player speak out against what it's become.

It's Too Late

Overheard while sitting down for a fast food dinner .....

From the table behind me while Carole King's song, It's Too Late, played on the house sound system: "Carole King used to be married to James Taylor." I thought: "Should I turn around and correct the lady?" ..... "Is it my place to tell her, No that's not true. James Taylor was married to Carly Simon but that he recorded Carole King's song, You've Got A Friend."

But then suddenly I was filled with doubt. What if I'm not quite the rock music historian that I think I am? I'd really hate to be called out as a false prophet in this crowded fish & chips place. Maybe I ought to just check it out before intruding on other peoples conversations. I could detect a little tone of surprise in her dinner mates voice, like he wasn't sure either. But before I could decide what to do, they veered off into some vague Carlos Santana thoughts that I couldn't quite hear and then just like the title of the song being played, it really was too late.

The moral of the story ...... You've got to have confidence in your knowledge and be ready to act in situations like this!!

Friday Notes .... Who Would Thunk It

A nice surprise received yesterday. The news that we have the upcoming Monday off from work for Presidents Day. It wasn't on my mind. I hadn't been geared towards focusing my attention that way. It's not exactly like it's The 4th of July, Thanksgiving or Christmas. Like I said, A nice surprise!!

One week remaining before the latest milestone birthday, where an attitude adjustment will take place in my thinking of what number defines old age. WOW 60!! "Who woulda thunk it" to quote a Greg Brown song. It's a little funny but true that it really hasn't been on my mind much. Certainly not like the previous three milestones of 30, 40 and 50. It's all kinda snuck up on me.

One of my big frustrations these days is that these people at work like to either make or purchase these ultra lavish, multi layer, with thick frosting and fruity filling and drizzling cakes, often with coconut too. I keep telling them that I want a simple white cake with chocolate frosting like my mom used to make. Yet I can't tell them how to make it. And they don't seem to understand why I shy away from the super cakes. This seems especially relevant right now with a birthday approaching. May have to take matters into my own hands.

One good thing about growing older ..... At the rate it's going, by the time that I hit 75, these 95 and 100 degree days of summer that I dislike so much, will probably feel a bit nippy.

Now Viewing

Watched the last three weeks of the PBS program, Film School Shorts. The thing is, unlike some movies, the various writers have to get you into the story quickly. And judging from the episodes that I've seen, they do that well. There's also a wide range of storylines. I'll definitely keep watching.

It seems that PBS is becoming my "go to" television channel. Oregon Art Beat, Oregon Field Guide, Sun Studios Sessions and other various music programming ..... and now Film School Shorts.

Film School Shorts

Connections

Went through the drawer where I throw anything related to the words, cord, wire, cable, etc.. I really don't think that I need a hundred yards of speaker wire anymore. Nor do I need a dozen different color coded, audio/video cables. Hell half of the various cables and cords that I have yet to toss in the drawer, I have no idea what device they came with. So how am I supposed to recall what the contents of this drawer were once for? This stuff ought to be labeled in the factory prior to being sent out to be sold, so that when you discard a broken device, the cables and wires can go with it. Once you get two or more unused cords together stashed away in a dark quiet place, I'm beginning to think that they engage in activities resulting in the birth of more of the same.  

That which survived the final cut, was placed in a storage box in the garage. Now I have an empty drawer, which excites me well beyond immensely. Time to figure out what goes in that drawer next. For me, that requires a complicated thought and planning process..

Updated Status

I've known that there was practically no chance but the updated status report via text message still stings. I still held a microscopic amount of hope. Even though the odds were less than winning the lottery. Regardless of having years to sort it all out and accept my place. I still felt dead inside for a few seconds, maybe even a moment or two. Like being betrayed by the one you just couldn't imagine being capable. This being a minor but lingering shock. I know the words were carefully considered and as well meaning as possible. But still it hurts. Not an emotionally paralyzing sting but much more than apathy or indifference. An small investment of hope that didn't work out. But any amount of hope is still hope. Maybe I was guilty of an unrealistic reach for the most distant of stars.

Fading Away

Watching an old acquaintance literally fading away from a fight with cancer and other medical issues. You wonder how much longer he wants to keep up the struggle? Seems like every month brings a new complication and from the photos that I've seen, I want to scream: Enough is enough!!! It sounds like all hope for a cure or any measure of recovery is gone. He's been through hell for at least two years now. Isn't that enough? Why can't he either be cured, comforted or taken?

I don't know what he believes about God and life and the end of life and what his fears are but if he eventually made the choice, could he really be condemned for ending the fight?

Then again, I don't know what's going through his mind. He might amaze us all if we could see beyond the body language. If he wants to keep fighting, if he does have hope for his future, then more power to him!!

On a Dark Desert Highway

Well it's not exactly the desert. Apologies to The Eagles for using their lyric here.

Took the back road into town on my way home from work, passing on the quicker buzz down I-5.

I find the dark, lonely, single lane road to be infinitely more interesting then the well lit, multiple lane interstate freeway. Especially on late hour, rainy and windy winter evenings where the shadows often dominate. Even considering that I thought I saw a ghost out there, crossing in front of me a few years back. Even after crossing paths occasionally with feral cats, skunks and possums. Even after forty-plus years of driving it.

There's just something appealing about the solitude of being the only driver on a stretch of road. Not to forget relaxing. At my present age, possibly representing my idea of adventure and thrill seeking! I don't think that I'd call it romantic but maybe in a indescribable way it is. It feels a little like I'm in a movie from the 1950's, uncertain of what lies ahead .... Maybe giant mutant killer ants, UFO's, zombies? Though in this case, I've always eventually ended up in my driveway. A happy ending after an evening at work.

Confidence Shattered and Lost

Just when you think that you have the "whole rotten system" all figured out ........

I'm not touching any more computers at work. All my attempts last night to edit and correct the errors of others resulted in increasingly complicated errors. I've lost confidence. Kind of like being at the halfway point of a batting slump in baseball where things just continue to get worse. It was like: "What else can I mess up? I don't know what this key or function will do. Maybe I should try it ...... Ooooppppsss. Oh shit!"

And I'm afraid that the resulting email attempting to explain what I did, will only cause more confusion. When I go into a slump, I jump in blindly and deeply.

I may have unknowingly launced a few missiles last night! Maybe set in motion a blackout of New York City. I'm afraid to turn on the news. I might have had more success had I navigated the keyboard with my toes.

Took those three words above, "whole rotten system" from a George Costanza quote in the Seinfeld episode where he was trying to impress a girl on the phone contacted through The Daily Worker personals. It's one of those phrases that just keeps bouncing around in my head. The kind of stuff that I have no problems with remembering.

Clinically Proven .....

I'm a sucker for the claims seen on tubes of moisturizing lotions for the care of dry and cracked skin. There's no other explanation why I have about two dozen products by two dozen different brands. If it claims to fix you right up, I'll buy it and try it. No matter that I already have several other containers making the same claims of soothing relief and healing. In fact "soothing relief" might just be my favorite combination of any two words used consecutively, recently having overtaken "Yankees win!" More than ever, "soothing relief" is needed to help counter the cons of my recently acquired obsession with handwashing.