The Old Coot is a lefty. An Old Coot article published on May24, 2023

 The Old Coot is now a lefty.

By Merlin Lessler

 What arm do you start with, when putting on your shirt? I bet you don’t know, not for sure. It’s one of those things you do without thinking; your subconscious takes charge. Even if you try to figure it out the next time you get dressed, you still won’t know, because you’ll be thinking about it.  It’s hard to find out what your body does on its own.

 How about socks; which sock do you put on first? The right or the left?  For me, it’s left. That’s the leg I can cross over my knee with the least amount of strain. I do it sitting down, but only since I became an old coot. I used to put on my right sock first. I’d hop on my left foot and pull it on. I couldn’t do that with my left sock. When I tried, I’d lose my balance and start to topple over. Now, I sit on a chair. Eventually, I won’t even be able to do that. I’ll get down on the floor and get dressed like a toddler and then say,” Somebody want to help me get up.?

 Some people don’t put on both socks at the same time. They put on a sock and then a shoe, and then the other sock and a shoe. Archie Bunker and his son in law Michael had a big fight about this on an “All in the Family” episode. Archie insisted the right way was to put on a sock and a sock, then a shoe and a shoe. Michael was of the sock and a shoe, sock and a shoe persuasion. So, Archie called him a Meathead!

 This sock business is important, at least to us old coots. It’s a critical part of our day. It’s not as easy as it once was, back when we didn’t give it a thought. Especially, on a day when our back is acting up. If we drop a sock on the floor, we’re in big trouble. We can’t bend over and pick it up or slip it on like regular people. We have to get a coat hanger and either pick it up, or try to nudge it on to our foot. That’s why you see us going around wearing a single sock every once in a while. It means we gave up trying to get it off the floor or got distracted and forgot to put it on. Sometimes, I don’t wear any socks, on purpose. Too much trouble to put them on. It’s what the hip, younger crowd does. It makes me sort of hip too?

 But, back to the “which arm do you put in your shirt first” question. If you don’t know the answer, consider yourself lucky. If you do know the answer, well, you’re an old coot like me who has no choice!  

 

The Old Coot is unpluged. A May 24, 2023 Article

 The Old Coot is plug challenged.

By Merlin Lessler

 I have a plug problem. For most of my lifetime, I could plug something into a wall outlet with ease: two slots, two prongs, in they go. Now, because of an overprotective bureaucratic safety edict, I’m stuck with a wide prong and a narrow one and a wide and narrow slot. You would think a person has a fifty-fifty chance of getting the plug lined up the right way. Not the case. Not for me, anyhow. It’s more like one in ten chances of getting it right.

 Oh sure, if I went and grabbed my reading glasses, I could get it right the first time. But I don’t, and thus, I have a plug problem. And, not just with electric lamps and appliances. It’s the same with USB and HDMI plugs. I also seem to get them wrong most of the time. And, my cell phone charger and plug, until just recently, when my new Samsung phone came with a plug that is indifferent to which way you plug it in. If I’d had an Apple phone, I never would have had the problem. But, being a cheapskate and opting for a phone that cost one fifth that of an I-phone, I’ve had to deal with a phone plug problem for more than a decade. It’s why I like my Apple I-pad so much, a gift from my oldest daughter seven years ago. Never a plug problem with that device.

 I recently moved to an apartment in a house a block or so down the street from our well-loved two hundred and eighteen-year-old residence. It’s one of those life adjustments you make to accommodate the aging process. But it wasn’t easy -all those plugs; all those slots. It was a wrong-way, plug festival. My wrist is still sore from twisting it to get the plugs to line up with the slots. The wrist will get better, my plug problem won’t.

 Comments? Send to – mlessler7@gmail.com

Od Coot wans age tage. Published May 10, 2023

 The Old Coot wants to know.

By Merlin Lessler

 I always thought my life would be less frustrating if everyone wore a nametag. Then, I wouldn’t have to fake it, pretend I knew who a person was. Like a lot of old coots, I call people by fake monikers like: Governor, Missy, Buddy, while scrambling through my rusty memory files in a desperate attempt to dig their name out of the cobwebs. It never comes to me until five minutes after they leave. Sometimes, not for a day or more. People won’t wear name tags, except at a business conference or similar event where attendees don’t know each other. The only name tags they will wear, are those of clothing designers, corporate logos or sports teams: Ralph Lauren, Chaps, Tom Brady, Nike, Buffalo Bills and the like. Sport their own name. No way!

 That “No way” attitude is even more in play with my second ID suggestion, an Age Tag. Either with a person’s age or with the year they were born, making us to do the math if we want to know how old they are bad enough. Most of us are curious about other people’s age. I’m constantly going on line to look up someone famous enough to be listed on Google or Wikipedia. It’s so much easier than in the old days, digging into World Almanacs, encyclopedias or calling the library.

 All the people I’m around have the same age curiosity that I do. And, many of them are not old coots; they’re people of all ages. Someone will walk into wherever we are “hanging out” and invariably, one of us will ask, “How old do you think that guy is?” We try to figure it out. “I think he’s in his fifties. He looks younger, but I guess he’s made it out of his forties. I’ll ask my sister; she knows him.” That sort of conversation. And, it might stop some embarrassing Old Coot utterances – “Is that your daughter or your wife?” – Are you sisters or mother and daughter?”

 We’re a curious species. We want to know things. Especially everyone’s age. We’d also like to know how much they earn, or what they’re worth. I guess that’s too much to ask for. I’ll settle for an age tag. It would be a boon to society. Don’t you agree?

 Comments?  Mlessler7@gmail.com

The Old Coot tells all. published May 3, 2023

 The Old Coot Admits It - Men Don’t Listen!

By Merlin Lessler

 I’ve been moving stuff all week to a new place in Owego. My mind and body are shot. So I’m using this article from 2012 to readmit that I don’t listen.

 Men don’t listen. And worse, we don’t know it. We think we’re good listeners. Our wives know we’re not. They have to deal with it all the time. “Why are you getting all dolled up?” we innocently ask. “Because we’re going to the play tonight with Nick and Nancy. I told you about it last week and reminded you again at dinner, just 20 minutes ago.” This is when the wisest among us shut our mouths and start to get ready to go out. Many of us aren’t that smart. We whine, “You never mentioned it to me!” That’s when we get the short version of the lecture on how we never listen. We’ll get the long version when we get back home after the play.

 It’s not our fault. We try to listen. We’re positive we hear everything our wives tell us, but we don’t. I think it’s a right brain, left brain thing. When somebody talks to us we are all ears, for about ten seconds. Then our brain switches into a sports mode. It drags up images of scoring the winning basket as the clock winds down to zero. Actually, it doesn’t drag up the image; it makes it up. There never was a moment like that. The male brain can’t distinguish between fact and fiction.       

 It’s not just our wives we don’t listen to; it’s everybody. It’s why we get in so much trouble. We’re in a conversation; the other person talks and talks and then stops and looks at us and says, “So, do you think it’s a good idea?” We have no idea what they are talking about, but we never admit it. “Sure,” we respond. “That’s a great idea.” Then we discover that we just loaned our car to our neighbor’s teenage son for the prom. “How could you do that?” our wife asks. “It sounded like a good idea at the time,” we lamely respond. “You had to be there.”

 I’m so glad that women are getting into leadership positions in business and politics. It was a tough road without them. If a woman had been in charge of Ford Motor Company in the 50’s when the design team made the pitch to introduce the Edsel, she might have listened to the engineers who warned that it was too soon, that the bugs hadn’t been worked out. As it was, Henry Ford the 2nd, who is a man, may I point out, was daydreaming about the Detroit Tigers when the discussion took place. When asked if they should move ahead and introduce the car in the 1958 model year, he said, “Sounds like a good idea.”

 It’s just the opposite with women. They hear everything, even the stuff that you never say. If the words make it into the little waiting room in your brain, the place you put stuff for a few seconds before you let it go public, women hear it. They also have long-term memories. We say stuff that gets them so mad they can’t see straight. But they don’t say anything at the time. We hear about it two months later - “On December 2nd at two in the afternoon you said I looked a little chunky in my new coat.” Here’s where tact has such great value, if only we were smart enough to use it. We have no idea what she is talking about. We don’t even know she has a new coat. We can relate to December 2nd; the Giants were playing the Eagles that day. The stupid among us, blurt that information out, ala, “Didn’t know about the coat, the Giants were playing, etc.” Those of us who hope to live to a ripe old age take a breath and fake it. “I remember saying that. It’s bothered me every single day since then. I almost cried; I felt so bad. It wasn’t true anyhow; you looked great. I was mad because the Giants were losing and I took it out on you. How can I ever make it up to you?” Of course it’s all fiction. No man would ever say those things. How could he? He never heard what she was complaining about to begin with. Remember, men don’t listen.