The Old Coot says old is good! ( Tioga Co. Courier article 11/24/21)

 

The Old Coot thinks old is good.

By Merlin Lessler

 Young guys look at old coots like me, and say, “Oh boy, look at that old guy; he's just not with it, can’t do stuff, walks funny. Never going to happen to me!”

 They think it’s all bad, to be old, but it’s not. There are a lot of advantages to being an old coot.

We have a built in excuse for a lot of unpleasant things. We don’t have to help someone move to a new house or apartment. Or, to lift heavy objects, like the other day in the Owego Kitchen. Ike needed help unloading a huge cooler from a pick-up truck and moving it inside. A very heavy and awkward item to handle. He didn’t even consider asking me. The “young” guys got the privilege while Lester (Ike’s father) and I watched.

 I'm glad I'm too old to cave dive, or run a marathon, walk a tightrope, scale a cliff and a whole slew of other “feats of strength.” People even open doors for me, wave me ahead of them in line, help me carry groceries to my car. I don't have to worry about getting old, I’m already there, and an expert on managing life in an old body. But, the nicest things about being old, is you don't have to be politically correct about what you say. You can be frank. Something the younger crowd can’t do, not without being called a bully, or being obliterated by social media. “We can say, “You need to fix your breath; it stinks” We do this mostly with old people like us, things of necessity like, “You forgot to comb your hair, dummy!” - “your pants are on backwards” – “I think you're wearing your wife's blouse.” It’s a kindness to do this for the individual and a necessity if we want to improve the image of oldsters in general.

Young folks are not exempt from our unfiltered comments, “Boy you’ve put on weight!” – “When did you go bald?”

 My friend, Alan, has a nickname, “One shoe, two shoe.” He made the mistake of walking into our early morning coffee group, wearing two different shoes; he hadn’t noticed them on his five mile walk down the beach to Starbucks. Yes, there are definitely advantages to being old. You can mouth off to some big, young guy, to a degree (let’s not go crazy here) and a have pretty good chance that he won't hit you. He’d be embarrassed to be seen beating up an old man. Don’t try this at home kids! I know of one old guy who did this and got decked. Even so, it’s good to be old.

 Comments? Send to mlessler7@gmail.com

Safe from atomic bombs? Old Coot Article 11-17-2021

 

The Old Coot learned survived skills in 3^rd grade.

By Merlin Lessler

 I started watching a new movie the other day; it portrayed what the world will be like if global warming isn’t curtailed: horrific storms with hurricane force winds, unending forest fires, routine 500-year floods, hail stones the size of automobiles. It was a futuristic look at the world in its scariest scenario. I knew where it was going and quit watching after the first fifteen minutes.

  Later that same week, a psychiatrist was on the radio, instructing parents on how to talk to their kids about global warming, so they won’t live in fear with the constant pelting of media scenarios that made them think they are doomed, along with the planet. It was timely, and had some good advice to moderate climate change terror. Tell the kids things like, “We will solve this problem; let’s do our part.”   

 I wish someone thought this way about kids in my generation. We grew up under the cloud of an atomic war. For me, it started in elementary school, as the Cold War with Russia heated up. We had air raid drills, to “save” us in the event of a nuclear attack. We loved fire drills; we got to go outside and wait on the playground. And, even though we had to stay in line, it was still a lot of fun; we were out of the prison for fifteen minutes. Air raid drills, on the other hand, required that we get under our desks and face away from the widows (to avoid going blind from the flash of an atomic bomb). We were told that our region was a target because of IBM and other tech and defense companies that peppered the Triple Cities area. Like this action would actually save us. What were they thinking?

 To make matters worse, many popular movies of the day had “end of the world” themes, with terrifying creatures, mutated from the fallout of atomic bombs, stalking cities and the people who lived in them.   One of my favorites was the movie, “Them.” It had a legion of giant ants killing and eating people who wandered near their nest in an underground culvert. I still get a chill whenever I hear a squeaking sound similar to that made by the giant ants.

  Maybe that's why my generation listens to the horrors of climate change portrayed on the media with a shrug, “Yeah, maybe it'll happen.” We’ll do our part, but we think it hurts zealots’ credibility, when every single snow storm or thunderstorm is blamed on climate change. It scares kids, adults too, and reminds me of Chicken Little running around yelling that the sky is falling when it was only an acorn that hit the ground. These threats of doom have caused some young couples to fret over whether they should have children and bring them into a world with hail stones the size of automobiles. We still need to enjoy life, not live in constant dread of what might be. The earth’s climate has changed many times and life has been able to adapt. We will too.  Now, get under your desk and face away from the window!   

 Comments, complaints? Send to mlessler7@gmail.com 

Ink blots don't work. An Old Coot Article in the Tioga Co. Courier (11/10/21)

 The Old Coot can’t blot out a memory.

By Merlin Lessler

 Back in September, some classified documents relating to the Saudi involvement in 9/11 were released. Supposedly, a candid picture of what went on leading up to the attacks. Finally, we’d get to learn the truth. Not so fast! The report was redacted, loaded with black strikeouts that resembles ink blots.  Once again, we'd been hoodwinked by the bureaucratic process of redacting, blocking out the “sensitive” portions of the report. It reminded me of the inkblots on my test papers when I was in high school. That was my strategy too, to hide the evidence, of my stupidity. I didn't know it was officially called redacting. I used it frequently in my 11th grade history class. The tests I “forgot” to study for. (All of them)

 A question on the test might ask us to explain the economic impact of the Stamp Act on the colonies. I had no idea, but a response was called for. I’d reply with something like this., “The Stamp Act was enacted to BLOT, BLOT, BLOT …….” (The ink blots were created by my Parker fountain pen). I didn't fare any better than the FBI did when it released the redacted reports.  But ink blots were the only thing I could come up with. I thought it might give me a fighting chance, maybe enough partial credit to get a passing grade

 Fountain pens were in the vogue in those days. Ballpoint pens hadn't quite made the scene and our papers had to be done in ink. Parker Pens were the top of the line, at least for high school students. Especially the “Snorkel” model, where a metal tube came out of the end of the pen point when you turned a knob at the other end. You didn’t have to stick the point into the ink, and thus didn’t cause the pen to blot on the paper. I wanted the blots, so when I was in History class, I dipped the point into the inkwell as far as it could go. I didn’t do this in my other classes; just my history papers were splattered with ink blots.

 Much to my father’s dismay, a history buff who read the encyclopedias in his leisure time, the ink blot strategy didn’t work; I failed 11^th grade History. I couldn’t figure out why anyone would be interested in all that “old” stuff.  Not anymore. I’m a history buff myself, of sorts, but much of my interest of late, only goes back to mid-20^th century, where I don’t have to do any research; I lived it.

 Comments, complaints? Send to – mlessler7@gmail.com

The Old Coot walks back in time. Tioga Co. Courier Article of 11/10/21

 

The Old Coot goes wool gathering.

By Merlin Lessler

 Here's an interesting mental exercise to undertake. I recommend it highly. It helps put things into perspective. An interesting journey of introspection. Here’s mine.

 Seventy-nine years ago, as I write this, my mother was in her last two weeks of pregnancy with me, wondering when her baby would “pop out.” Would it be a boy or a girl? Would it be healthy? Would this world war ever come to an end? Little did she know, that in two weeks, on a Sunday night, at 2 in the morning, a future old coot was to be unleashed on the world. Little did that unborn baby know, that decades later, he would be walking around town with a messenger bag over his shoulder, a notebook and pen at the ready, a walking stick in his hand and reflecting on life on the cusp of entering his 80th year. That about to be born baby, had no idea what lay ahead, a whole life of living. No idea he’d grow from an infant into a young boy, start school, evolve to a teenager (making all those stupid choices that the naïve do in their salad days), moving on through life at breakneck speed, finishing high school, college and then more college at night school, getting married, having kids, jobs, houses, cars and the material things of life. Facing losses of family and friends. Moving on, eventually blessed with grandkids, in double digits, extending the family tree for another generation.  

 Then, retiring from the work world after 38 years, and reinventing himself as a writer (sort of), starting off on a new venture, stumbling along, still with only an inkling of what may loom ahead. Stepping into one day at a time, ready for the adventure to unfold with some wisdom from the history of life to that point, no matter how small the thimble it would take to hold it. The ride can be a little bumpy when traveling in a vehicle (the human body) with so darn many moving parts, never knowing which one will decide to act up. So, on he moves, into the future, his face turned to the warmth of the sun, knowing he’s privileged to be on this journey at all. His mission is simple: live each day, appreciate it, enjoy it. Thus, is life. And, in my case, taking a moment to reflect, and write this essay.

 For more of the story, sign on to - oldcootbinghamtonmemories.blogspot.com