My Shoes don't fit. An Old Coot Tioga County Courier Article of 12/31/21

 The Old Coot’s shoes don’t fit.

By Merlin Lessler

 My shoes don’t fit! My socks either. It’s not just me. Not an old coot thing! It affects a lot of people. The companies that make shoes and socks use a “close enough” standard. They’re not very precise. Take the shoes; if your foot is an exact size, you’re all set. If it’s a little too long, you have to buy the next larger size, and walk around with your foot slopping back and forth. They don’t make ½ sizes anymore. It’s even worse if you have a narrow foot. All you can get is medium, wide, and extra wide. Those of us with narrow feet, wobble side to side in our shoes. It’s a double whammy when you’re in a shoe too long and too wide. It’s why people (me) are so cranky – our foot bones bend and twist all day in ways they were not designed to move. And, to make it worse, modern day shoelaces are made from a synthetic material that won’t stay tied. 

 Now to the sock problem. Buy socks to fit your feet? Not on your life. The major sock companies only offer 2 sizes (for men anyhow) - Size 10 /13 (for shoe sizes 6 to 12) and Size 13/15 (for shoe sizes 12 – 16). Socks are either too big and wad up in your shoe, or too tight and make your toes curl. Then there’s tube socks, a knit bag that slips on your foot and you hope for the best. It all started back in the 1960’s when a cheapskate sock maker eliminated the toe and heel and came up with them. A friend of mine, John in Canada, loves them. He buys the longest ones. When the toe wears out he sews a straight line across the foot section, just above the hole, and moves on. He starts with a mid-calf sock and ends up with an ankle sock.   

 Hippies solved the problem in the 1960’s; they went barefoot. But stores and restaurants retaliated; they put up signs that said, “No Shirt - No Shoes - No Service!” The young people of today have started a second shoe/sock revolt. They don’t wear shoes or socks; they wear flip-flops. No matter what the weather. No matter what the occasion. Soon there will be new signs appearing in stores and restaurants. “If you have flip-flops on your feet; keep walking down the street!” Right next to the “Old Coots not allowed” sign.

 Ps. If you want a good fit for your shoes, go to Power & Paddle on Route 38, Catatonk. They solved my “fit” problem.

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Old Coot's have a fashion. Tioga County Courier Article 12/22/21

 

The Old Coot dress code.

By Merlin Lessler

 When I was younger, in my twenties, old men didn’t wear the hip clothes that I did: bell bottom pants, leisure suits, khakis, rugby shirts and the like. They wore ironed shirts, cardigan sweaters, pants buckled at rib cage level, high water pants and spit-shined leather shoes. Old coots today don’t parade around in a distinct “old man” fashion style. Most of us anyhow. We dress like normal people, more or less. But if you pay attention to the details, you will notice subtle differences.

 Take our shirts for example; we wear long sleeve shirts: summer, winter, spring & fall. Every season finds us in long-sleeves. If you see an old guy in short sleeves, he either hasn’t made it to full membership in the old coot club, or he still retains a fully functioning circulation system; he’s a showoff!  The reason for long sleeves is obvious in cold weather; they help keep us warm. But the same is true in hot summer weather. The air conditioning thermostats in stores and restaurants are set so low that an old guy in a short-sleeve shirt will shiver violently, so much so that the flapping sound of his flabby arm skin will make a racket. In reality, a long sleeve shirt is also a short sleeve shirt; just roll up the sleeves. When we go back outside, we roll them down. 

 Ironically, the opposite strategy comes into play with pants. Old coots avoid long pants as long as the weather will allow. Long pants are too hard to get into, even when we sit down to put them on. We opt for cargo shorts with plenty of pockets. They’re easy to slip on and those pockets come in handy to hold the junk we think we cannot be without: handkerchiefs, reading glasses, medical supplies, jackknives, ID cards and directions to get home in case we forget. We make up for the shortness of the pants on cold days by pulling up a pair of elongated tube socks, unless we are already wearing knee-high, compression stockings. If it gets too warm, we roll them down. Isn’t that a pretty sight?

 We usually wear a hat, but most young guys do as well, so a hat doesn’t necessarily signify, “old coot.” Hats are great for hiding bald domes, but more important for us, they keep us warm.  As you know, 50% of the heat we lose, radiates out of our heads. It’s a scientific fact; I know it’s true; I looked it up on the Internet using the phone in my cargo pant’s pocket!

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Old Coot in a war zone. Tioga Co. Courier Article 12/15/2021

 

The gauntlet has been thrown down!

By Merlin Lessler

 There is a quiet conflict underway in this country, call it a war in the making. It’s been smoldering under the radar for years, but now the flames lick higher. It started in the 1960’s, maybe earlier, when a college student, usually a co-ed, came home for Thanksgiving and announced, I’m a vegetarian!” Mom went into a tizzy, “What do we feed her?” she asked Dad. “I’ve got a 25 pound turkey in the oven and all the fixings including a bushel of mashed potatoes and enough gravy to drown an army.”

 “It’s just a phase,” her husband replied. “She’ll get over it by the end of the semester.” And, that’s what usually happened, back then. But not anymore. It’s now an outright conflict between the herbivores (plant eaters) and the omnivores (plant & animal eaters). Our species evolved as omnivores; we have the teeth to prove we were genetically destined to consume both meat and plants.

But now that the war has heated up, our species has divided into two different evolutionary forks: The omnivore fork and the herbivore fork. And, who do you think is throwing the bombs? Not the so-called uneducated meat eaters; It’s the descendants of peace loving flower children: vegans and vegetarians. They are in an attack mode – going as far as to claim the animals consumed by the omnivores are the cause of global warming and climate change.

 Maybe they will dominant the path of the human species, discarding us omnivores, just as we did the Neanderthals. It’s going to get ugly out there. No more spaghetti and meatballs! No more pizza with pepperoni! No more ham and eggs! No more bacon burgers! A whole bunch of us old guys won’t give up; they’ll have to pry the hot dogs out of our cold dead hands.

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Old Coot explains "one". (A Tioga Co. Courier Article of 12/08/21)

 

The Old Coot explains the meaning of “one.”

By Merlin Lessler

 The doctor of a friend of mine suggested he limit his intake of alcohol to one glass of wine in the evening. They all say that to people our age. I don’t get it; we’re too far gone to do any serious damage at this point.  Anyhow, that’s what they do. But, in Hanks’ case, the doctor didn’t indicate the size of the glass. Big mistake! Hank decided that a goldfish bowl on a stem would be just about right. He used the “Bill Clinton” dictionary. The one Bill used when testifying before a grand jury that he didn’t lie when he said, “There is nothing going on between us; it depends on your definition of is”. Hank’s definition of “one” glass of wine doesn’t limit the size of the glass; it depends on the definition of one. If you want to know what that is, look it up in the Bill Clinton Dictionary. It’s two pages past the definition of “is”. 

 A lot of us do this, whether it’s “fibbing” to doctors, or to ourselves. We are capable of using this cloudy kind of language. When asked if we’ve cut back on our snacking addiction, we respond, “Why certainly, I hardly ever snack”! (Only during my waking hours.) Or, “I cut down my intake of Oreo cookies. I limit it to ONE (one row),” adopting Hank’s definition of “one.”  “Do you exercise regularly?” – “Of course!” (Every two months) It depends on your definition of regular.

 Every thing you promise to others or yourself, depends on the meaning of the words you use. Take your pick: Webster’s Dictionary or Clinton’s Dictionary. A handful of chips means a hand the size of King Kong’s. One beer, means one growler. One bowl of ice cream just barely fits into Hank’s wine glass.

 It’s not just average people who use Clintonesque definitions.  Ever tried to exercise your rights under a warranty or a guarantee? Some companies do just that, they honor what they promised. But many others point to the small print, (that most of us don’t read) and say, “Tough luck!! You’re not covered.” (100 % doesn’t mean 100%). I won’t get into the political promises made by office seekers. I don’t have enough ink in my pen to cover that part of the Clinton Dictionary. Besides, I have to help Hank carry his new wine glass from the store to his car. This one comes on wheels and a straw the size of a garden hose.    

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Old Coot wears modern jeans. A Tioga Co. Courier Article of 2/01/21

 The Old Coot is hip? (sort of)

By Merlin Lessler

 I had on a pair of “I’m not old jeans” the other night. Out in public! They have skinny legs, actually they are technically classified as “Slim.” The “skinny” ones fit more like pantyhose. The legs in mine are wider, but they’re still considered hip. They contain stains, paint splatters, rips and tears. And cost a lot of money! Not mine. I got them from the “last call, next stop the garbage” rack in Old Navy. I shop there because it has “old” in its name, making me think I’m welcome.  

 I have a similar pair of jeans hanging in the garage, a 40-year-old pair of Levi’s. With stains from real work, paint splatters, rips & tears that appeared the old fashion way; they were earned, not factory produced. The other difference between my work pants and my “I’m not old jeans” are the width of the legs. They are wider and you can squat down and do stuff with no fear that the seams will rip apart.  

 They hang in the garage next to the rakes and snow shovels, waiting patiently to be put into action. A painting project, carpentry, or digging around in the dirt. Something that the “I’m not old pants” couldn’t hold up to.  I wish I had theses paint splattered, fashion pants when I was a kid and had to face my mother in a pair of jeans covered with grass stains. Especially, since she always warned, as I ran out the back door, “Don’t you dare get grass stains on those pants!” She didn’t understand, when you play cowboys, you have to wither on the ground and die properly after being ambushed and shot by two bad guys with loaded cap pistols.

 I don’t know what point I was trying to make with this rambling. Maybe, I just wanted to brag that I had a hip pair of jeans or to acknowledge that old coots still retain a sense of style, and even though we are averse to change, we are willing to stick our toe in the water every once in a while. As long as it’s cheap!

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