Old Coot likes to be second best. June 24, 2020 Tioga County Courier Article

The Old Coot likes being second best.

By Merlin Lessler

 

I watched a movie the other day. In one scene, a business conference was being held in a luxury hotel. The walls were sprinkled with motivational posters: “Excellence is Everything” - “Winning is the Only Thing” - “#2 is not an option.” I found it amusing, in a way only an old coot would because those slogans don’t apply to me anymore. They don’t fit the condition I find myself in.

 

“Excellence” is not an option, not for an old coot. Mediocrity is the name of my game. The posters at a seminar I might attend, are a lot different than those at a hyped-up business conference: - “Working up to average is an honorable goal!” -  - “Being #1 is overrated (so are #2 & #3).” “Getting your pants on without tripping signals a good day ahead.” It’s a tough transition, going from the first string to the sidelines, but those who embrace the change find gold at the end of the rainbow.

 

The old coot world is a comfortable place. Nobody expects much of you. They know you have limitations. When asked to help move something, we give them the “bad back” story. When they want to borrow money, we give them the “fixed income” excuse. When they want us to go to the opera, we give them the “can’t stay awake after eight” routine. Eventually, they think we can’t do anything; the requests stop coming in. Old coots are free. We can go about our business unencumbered. If we do step in to lend a hand, we get the royal treatment. We help a niece move to a new apartment by standing around supervising and occasionally shuttling a box from the truck to the house, having tested it to be sure it's filled with pillows. “Don’t hurt your back Uncle Coot,” our appreciative niece cautions, having accepted the “bad back” groundwork that was laid down years earlier. “That’s OK honey, I just want to help,” we reply. We get an “A” for a “D - minus” performance. That’s how the old coot deal works.

 

Sure, there are drawbacks. Nobody said being an old fossil was easy. We’re not sure if the niece’s name is Laura or Lynn. We know it starts with an “L,” and getting the first letter right is good enough when your goal is “mediocrity.” Nobody expects more, least of all us. Our little stumbles slide by unnoticed. People know our memories aren’t what they used to be. They’ve heard our conversations, the ones sprinkled with old cootisms: what’s-his-name, thing-a-ma-jig, what-do-you-call-it. They know we “walk the mail” - bring back home the letters we were supposed to mail after giving them a journey through town in our back pocket. They know our refrigerators are plastered with post-it-notes: get milk - mow the lawn - go to the Rotary meeting. Our life history is written out on yellow sticky paper. I save my old notes in a metal, fireproof box. It’s a time capsule for the archeologists to uncover a thousand years from now. They’ll conclude that the people of this era had small brains, limited memories and were forced to write everything down. They’ll be right!

 

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

 

 

 

The housefly - June 17, 2020 Article in Tioga County Courier

The housefly and the Old Coot.

By Merlin Lessler

A fly landed on my hand the other afternoon. I was on our back porch trying to get interested in a water color painting I was working on. I had sketched out the general scene but hadn’t stuck a brush in water to start the wash that would underly the background. I’m not good at this- I painted a bit, years ago, and then stopped. I’ve tried to recapture the skill, limited as it was, a few times over the years but haven’t stuck with it. I guess that old adage is true, “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

So, I was sitting there just staring at the sketch waiting for a nudge from the universe to get moving. “Alexa” had been kind enough to find and play some easy listening music; a gentle breeze was rustling the leaves in the lilac bushes along the fence and wind chimes were tinkling off in the distance. I guess I was in a vegetative state, killing time, procrastinating and about to doze off.

Then, a fly landed on my hand, my finger tip to be specific. I was in such a mellow state I didn’t brush it away. I could hardly feel it – either it was very gentle, very light on my finger, or I just don’t have the sensitivity I used to. The fly scampered around, running up between my fingers as though on a scouting mission. I just sat there, letting him continue his exploration of my hand. He hung in there for 22 minutes. I guess he thought I was a good guy, that I wouldn’t swat him like most humans. And, I had no urge to do so. Kind of like those African natives you used to see in old news reels, standing around in the heat with swarms of flies buzzing around their heads, going in and out of their mouths, not seeming to be bothered or even to notice. Watching the fly scamper around on my hand intrigued me.! He probed here and there with his proboscis but inflicted no pain, not much of any sensation at all.

For a while there, I wondered if he thought I was a corpse and he was looking for a place to plant some eggs in my skin, that a coroner could use to determine the time of death by the stage of maggot development, like they do on TV crime shows. I’d been so still he must have thought that. But, I don’t know if flies think in that fashion, they probably just act on instinct. Anyhow, it gave me some entertainment and perked my curiosity, “What was he up to?” Then, all of a sudden, he sat up on his hind legs like a dog begging for a treat, rubbed his front “paws” together and flew away. It just goes to show; it doesn’t take much to entertain an old coot. I still haven’t finished the painting.

Complaints? Suggestions? Send to mlessler7@gmail.com

Old Coot loves rocking chairs. June 10, 2020 article

The Old Coot is off his rocker.

By Merlin Lessler

I took a test ride the other day. In a rocking chair! I don’t know why. It just dawned on me that I hadn’t been on one in years and wanted to experience it again. Just like I did with a swing set at the park last year. I thought it would be relaxing and help work out some of the kinks in my aging, muscular-skeletal structure. It’s what JFK did quite often when he was president, to relieve his chronic back pain from injuries he suffered during World War ll.

It’s a really clever device, the rocking chair; it eases back pain; it helps your knee and hip joints and reduces stress. Feeling nervous, edgy, stressed out? Take a ride in a rocker. It’s much better than plopping down on a sofa or a plush recliner. The rocking motion stretches muscles, tendons and all that other junk that makes up your anatomy.  Your whole body benefits when you limber up in a rocking chair. It has the same rejuvenation benefit that the Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz received when Dorothy oiled his joints.  

The rocking chair hasn’t been around all that long. Most historians credit it to American ingenuity, invented by an unknown woodworker in the 1700’s who took the idea of curved rockers on cradles and applied the concept to a simple wooden chair. People tried it; they liked it. The rest is history.

It’s not just old guys like me who can benefit from a rocking chair. Young people too. Especially, moms (and dads) with new babies or young toddlers. You get double duty from a rocker; the baby settles down and you do too. It even works with antsy, twitchy kids; don’t make them stand in a corner; let them rock it off in a rocker. It works better than Ritalin in some ways.  

Some people, mostly men, can be seen rocking in a chair without rockers, tilting back and forth on a four-legged kitchen chair, sitting backwards with their arms resting on the chair back. Every so often they rock beyond the point of no return and crash to the floor with arms flailing as though making an angel silhouette in fresh snow. You can see this “man in flight” performance every once in a while, on America’s Funniest Videos. Save yourself from an appearance on national TV and get a rocking chair. I’m going to.

Comments? Complaints? Send to mlessler7@gmail.com  

Old Coot wants TV back. June 6, 2020 Article

The Old Coot says enough is enough!

By Merlin Lessler

This is a bit petty, but petty is my specialty, so you shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve had it with Governor Cuomo, bullying his way onto my TV screen, just as the Price is Right gets to the grand finale. Day after day I watch contestants win, or almost win, trips, sofas, refrigerators, dining room sets and other goods as the show moves to a playoff between two contestants. That honor is decided by spinning a giant wheel. They then try to guess the price of a collection of “grand” prizes. The one who comes closest to the price, wins. A boat, a car, an exotic trip, a giant screen TV, luxurious merchandise or whatever was in the mix that day. Most viewers try to guess the price too. Just like they do when watching Jeopardy, except you have a chance of getting the correct answer on Price is Right.    

Just as the drama reaches its peak, Governor Cuomo takes center stage, with details ad-nauseam regarding the pandemic and justifying his every action. It’s an FDR fireside chat on steroids. Except, FDR only conducted 30 fireside chats over a twelve-year period. Cuomo outdid him in one month and pushed Drew Carey aside in the process. Roosevelt understood the principal, that less is more; Cuomo never got the memo.

 I don’t care what your politics are, you have to admit, when it comes to Cuomo’s parent to child lectures (we’re the child) are way overdone. And, sits on his throne with neatly trimmed hair, while the rest of us go around with a mop on top of our head. And like Trump, he doesn’t wear a facemask, doesn’t set a good example. It’s become the longest campaign speech in history. If it was on Netflix, we’d be in season forty-two.  

Don’t get me wrong, It’s Ok with me that you love or hate him, respect his politics or not. That’s what makes this country great, citizens with different views can still respect each other, though that virtue has been severely strained over the past 25 or so years and even more of late. The thing is, we’re overdosed with pandemic information. There is no evening news; it’s been swallowed by the media’s fixation on finding and airing every scrap of corona virus data. You need a college level course in Statistics to get a hint at what they are talking about. ENOUGH! Have your opinion, pro or con on the Cuomo orations. Just let me watch my Price is Right!

Comments? Complaints? Send to mlessler7@gmail.com (I’ll forward them to the governor)