March 28, 2018 Article

The Old Coot says don’t watch what you eat.

By Merlin Lessler

I’m on a new diet, “The Old Coot Eat Anything You Want Diet.” It started out as “The Opposite Diet” – when I simply did the opposite of what the “experts” said.  It’s something a lot of us old coots do. We’re contrary! We reject and resent expert advice, like weather forecasters who tell us how to dress when a cold front is headed our way. The forecast is often overblown anyhow. A lot of experts are wrong. Nutrition zealots’ advice bounces back and forth so much, it reminds me of watching the ball in a tennis match: eyes left, eyes right. Coffee bad! – Coffee good. Fat bad! (stop drinking whole milk, eating eggs or using butter). Fats good! -  Red meat bad! Chicken good! Red meat OK. Chicken bad! Count calories to lose weight! Calories aren’t the issue! On and on goes dietary and nutritional advice, bouncing back and forth across the net.   

It’s often a “follow the money” thing. Dieting is a billion-dollar business. A billion dollar “REPEAT” business. Every lost pound comes back, and brings a bunch of friends. Weigh 200, and lose 30 pounds, two years later you weigh 210. Now, “they” tell us we should carry 10 to 15 extra pounds, especially seniors. We’ll need the extra weight to carry us through an illness. That’s why I’m happily going through life on the “Old Coot Eat Anything You Want Diet.” Cake for breakfast? Why not? A double cheeseburger with fries and a shake (now and then). Sure! Have a snack before dinner? “It will spoil your appetite,” we’re told. So what? Another appetite will come along soon enough. 

There are a lot of us old coots who eat anything we want. But, there is a sound, diet philosophy that underpins it, an old truism that has worked for centuries. “Do everything in moderation.” And more specific to the issue at hand, “Eat anything you want in moderation. You’ll be healthy and happy.” And, to help inspire you to adopt the Old Coot Diet, consider how conventional diet and weight loss advice turned out for the nations poster children for weight control, Al Roker and Oprah Winfrey. Back to being a little chunky, aren’t they?

Comments? Complaints? Send to – mlessler7@gmail.com

March 21, 2018 Article

The Old Coot stubbed his toe. Again!

By Merlin Lessler

I was walking barefoot on the beach the other day. The surface was at a slight slant and I wasn’t paying attention. Next thing I knew, I’d stubbed my toe and nearly toppled over. It’s not the first time this has happened, but it’s the first time I accepted it wasn’t an anomaly, that it was happening more often than it should. Darn! Another of those things, that if I ask my doctor about, I’ll get the same response I always get, “You’ve got to expect that at your age.”

Now, I don’t ask, I figure it out on my own. Yet, these growing old challenges, and the need to adjust to new limitations is always a surprise. If you are in your 20’s and 30’s reading this, and thinking, “It will never happen to me,” you’re mistaken. I had that same cocky attitude when I was your age. But, old is in your future and the challenges it will impose. You’ll have to confront them. Or, rather, they will confront you. Sooner than you think. If it hasn’t already started.

I was in my late 20’s when it first confronted me. I learned I could no longer eat 3 sandwiches, 2 pints of milk, a slab of cake, a bag of chips and an apple for lunch. My teenage metabolism had “left the building.” It wasn’t until I stepped on a scale and discovered my lanky, teenage weight, of 165 had pushed over the 200 pound line. I could no longer eat everything in sight. Then, in my forties, I was forced to buy reading glasses. Something I should have done in my late thirties, but my male ego and its denial properties wouldn’t accept that my visual capability had diminished. It wasn’t until I could no longer read the newspaper because I couldn’t hold it far enough away for my eyes to focus that I admitted I needed glasses.

I’ve adjusted over the years, but only after periods of denial. I’ve stubbed my toe on the beach a half dozen times before I accepted the fact that my muscle and tendon structure had sagged a bit and wasn’t up to the task of pulling my foot up high enough to clear the ground on an irregular surface. So, I no longer can walk along and focus on the scenery; I have to watch the ground and constantly remind myself, “Pick up your foot, dummy!” It’s a challenge to think and walk at the same time. It limits my ability to gawk and affects my memory. My brain is fully occupied with walking and gawking, and has no neurons left to operate my memory. If you see me walking along the street (or on the beach) don’t say, “Hi,” It just might send me toppling to the ground. And, into the hospital.

Comments? Complaints? Send to mlessler7@gmail.com

March 14, 2018 Article

The Old Coot is a nervous passenger.

By Merlin Lessler

I can’t ride with anyone! Not as a passenger. They follow too close, a lot closer than I do. They wait too long before stepping on the brake for a car slowing down or stopping in front of them. I’m sure we’re going to crash, and I am constantly bracing for the impact. They take their eyes off the road and wander out of the lane, usually when they stare at the touch screen in search of an icon to adjust the fan speed, change stations on the radio or some such task. Things we used to be able to do by feel. But, not any more. Today’s cars force you to focus on a screen or a pressure sensitive button you can’t find by feeling for it. Drivers aren’t focused on the road ahead, they’re focused on the dashboard. Cell phones get the blame for distracted driving, but automobile designers are responsible for as much, if not more.

When the people that “I can’t ride with,” aren’t staring at or punching the touch screen, they’re looking over at me to say something, or worse yet, turning a full 180 degrees to converse with someone in the back seat while I’m staring straight ahead, ready to scream if brake lights come on in front of us. They also drive much faster than I do. Add it up: follows too close, goes to fast, wanders out of the lane, eyes roaming every which way but the road ahead; it explains why I’m a little wobbly when I step out of a car that someone else was driving.

My wish, when I ride with someone, is that they look over to me and say, “If there is anything I can do to make you feel comfortable with my driving style, let me know; I know how it feels.” I used to do this with my son when he was a new driver and we were on a road trip. I’d ask him to increase the space between our car and the one in front. He thought (and did) have better reflexes than me and would always be able to stop in time if something happened, but he agreed to back off, if I agreed not to drive like an old man when it was my turn. That worked pretty well, except I was a little uncomfortable when I was behind the wheel with him watching to make sure I complied with the agreement.

Unfortunately, I haven’t solved the problem that my wife has with “MY” driving. “You follow too close! You take to long to react to brake lights ahead of us on the highway. You mess around with the smart screen too much, bla, bla,” she claims. I don’t know what her problem is. I’m a great driver!

Comments, complaints. Send to mlessler7@gmail.com

   

March 7, 2018 Article

The Old Coot won’t let go of the wheel.

By Merlin Lessler

We (humans) moseyed along the African savanna for eons with our knuckles dragging on the ground. Finally, about 2 million years ago, we stood up and walked erect. “This is better,” we said. “We don’t bump into trees, stumble off cliffs or amble into the jaws of saber tooth tigers. Then one day, it was 3,512 BC (take my word for it; I was there), we hopped on a horse and started traveling above the fray. Some people hopped on camels and elephants and some on ostriches, but most did it on a horse.

Then, a millisecond ago on the evolutionary scale, we traded the horse for an automobile. I’m sure it was a scary transition, but we soon found it better than feeding and tending to a one-ton animal. Gas up the car and go! Today’s geniuses, that are driven to push the technology envelope, want to yank the steering wheel out of our hands; they want to put an end to our century long love affair with the automobile, end the freedom of rolling down the window or sliding back the top, and with the wind in our hair, driving for the simple pleasure of it.

These “geniuses” know we have short memories. That we’ve all but forgotten what happened when they removed the mechanical connection between the gas pedal and gasoline supply, replacing it with a rheostat, an electric current and a handful of electronic components. It caused more than a few drivers, buzzing along in Toyotas, to have the equivalent of a giant foot stomped on top of theirs, putting the pedal to the metal and sending them to an early grave.

Now, the geniuses want to take us out of the driver’s seat completely, and leave the driving to them, to their computers and software. A lot of folks are cheering them on. BUT, NOT ME! I don’t trust the geniuses; I wonder how many people really do? Those who do, who don’t want to drive, can take a cab, a bus or a plane, and leave the rest of us alone. We love our cars the way they are. And, not just old coots like me, who, even though environmentally incorrect, drive our cars when we have no place to go, just for the fun of it.

Comments? Send to – mlessler7@gmail.com   

February 28, 2018 Article

The Old Coot can’t open anything.

By Merlin Lessler

Reading glasses – check. Scissors – check. Wire cutters – check. Jackknife – check. Multi-head screwdriver - Allen wrench combo – Check! That’s five Checks! So, I’m ready to face the day. OPENING THINGS! Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to open anything! A bag of chips? Good luck! I pull on each side, hoping the seal at the top will let go and satisfy my craving for salt. No go. I’m too weak, (apparently) to pull it open, or, if it does cooperate, it bursts, sending chips everywhere. So, having finally admitted I can’t open anything, I pull out my scissors and snip the top.

Later, I attack one of those “Easy open trays” of deli meat. Easy open? Not until I get my reading glasses to figure out where the separation point is between the top and the body of the container. Sometimes I can force my fingernail between the two components, but most often I have to pull out my jackknife, slip the blade in and pry the two halves apart.

Bought your kid or grandkid a toy lately? Then you know what a challenge it is to get the darn thing free of its enclosure. It’s more securely attached to the container than astronauts belted in for takeoff. This is a job for the wire cutters, to snip the several plastic straps keeping an impatient four-year old from his new toy. Snip, snip, snip and you’re good to go. Unless, the gift is battery-operated. Remember when it was no big deal? You opened the compartment and inserted a battery or two. Unfortunately, some kid in East Podunk ate a battery and his parents sued the toy manufacturer. Now, we are saddled with tamperproof battery compartments. When it started out, you could get in using a small screwdriver, but these days you are often confronted with a hexagonal, or some other, odd shaped screw head, for which you aren’t prepared (thus the need for a multi-head screwdriver -Allen wrench combo tool. Never give a little kid a toy in factory packaging. Open it, energize it, check that it works, then wrap it up for presentation.

Everything is like this: food, toys, medicine, electronics. MAKING AMERICA SAFE! Don’t fight it. Admit you can’t open anything and have your tool kit with you at all times.

Comments, complaints – send to mlessler7@gmail.com