The Old Coot has a big nose! Published 4/24/24 #1,077

 The Old Coot is getting “nosey,”

By Merlin Lessler

 I looked in the mirror the other day, really looked for a change. Not my normal, quick glance that fills in the image with a memory of how I appeared years ago, making me think I’m not really an old man. That mirror showed many defects, a bigger nose to start with. It was “as plain as the nose on my face,” yet I hadn’t noticed.

 Then, I saw the ears. They weren’t mine! I never had saucers sticking out of the side of my head like that, had I? This must be some cruel trick. But, it wasn’t. Something was going on here; I was seeing it for the first time. I looked again. “Has my forehead ever been that big? And that far back?” The more I looked, the more I found. Too bad they don’t give you a manual when you sign up for Social Security to prepare you for the body alterations that will come your way.

 Like that bag of skin that keeps your insides protected from the outside world. All of a sudden, it starts to sag. It’s the opposite of that saying, “Two pounds of bologna in a one pound bag.” Now, I’m one pound of bologna in a two pound bag. Skin that’s sagging and wrinkling all over the place and thinning out so much that every time it gets a good bump, it bruises or bleeds. I can’t fix it with Botox – it would take too much fill it; I’d look like the Pillsbury Dough Boy

 Just great! If this keeps up, I’ll eventually have to braid my earlobes and tie them behind my neck and buy glasses with wider and wider nose pieces. So, here I am, big nose, big ears, arm muscles that are powered by rubber bands. When I’m in a movie theater, in a seat in the middle of a row, I sit in fear that a cramp will grab my leg, forcing me to swim over my seatmates to the aisle to kick it out. Yet, it’s the best time of my life! A period of low expectations. Nobody expects much of you when you’re an old coot. “Look at the old guy; he just raked his yard. Amazing!” We take advantage of it, us old guys. None of that, “Failure is not an option,” macho stuff for us. Failure is our best friend. It evokes pity, which is way underrated. It’s as good as, if not better, than praise. No sense to look with apprehension on getting old. It truly is the golden age of your life. Enjoy it when it comes. Big nose and all.

 

The Old Coot is a cave man. Published 4/17/24

 The Old Coot is a cave man.

By Merlin Lessler

 Neanderthals - a branch of the human family tree that was thought to have died out over 35,000 years ago. A dead end on the evolutionary ladder. We were told they were no match for us humans, a smarter and more civilized branch of the evolutionary tree. But Not True! Scientists experienced a shock wave, forcing them to reprogram their gray matter and recalibrate their text books.

 The shock was generated when anthropologists examined human DNA and found our genome contains Neanderthal DNA. Anywhere from two to twenty percent. And, then they were hit by another shock wave. A discovery that proved cave men weren’t as stupid and oafish as previously thought. It was a piece of string that did it. Archeologists unearthed a remnant of string in a 35,000 year old Neanderthal tomb, uncovered in 2022, in southeastern France. The string was made from short strips of hide, sinew and hair, woven into a pattern that transformed the short fibers into a long and useful cord. String is an important tool of early man, something we take for granted today.  

 I always suspected that there were Neanderthals among us. Not necessarily sporting a receding forehead and protruding brows, but exhibiting oafish behavior. Like bullies and other thoughtless, selfish people. Perhaps those people’s genomes contain large amounts of Neanderthal DNA.

 Unfortunately, I think I’m joining that group. I thought the transformation I’ve been going through these past twenty years, was just the normal aging process. I now think I was wrong. Maybe, the Neanderthal genes are taking over, causing my cranky, old coot attitude. I’m becoming a caveman (in addition to being a dinosaur). I just hope I can keep it under control and limit the focus of my yelling, to yelling at the TV, and not friends, neighbors and the general public.

 

The Old Coot promotes newspaper readership. Article # 1075 (Published 4/10/17)

 The Old Coot has a message.

By Merlin Lessler

 My daily newspaper has two features I never miss: “Today in History” and “Birthdays.” I usually go through “Today in History” first. There are always some interesting historical events. Today it included eleven items, but what interests me the most, are the events that occurred during my lifetime. Every year, more and more of them fall into that category. In today’s addition, only two of the eleven items took place before I was born: the birth of John Sebastian Bach in 1685 and the day Persia officially changed its name to Iran in 1935. I was alive for the other nine. It’s a nice trip down memory lane, but a brutal reminder of why I never got the date right on history tests in high school.    

 In the “Birthdays” section, I first look to find people older than me. Then, for a moment, I’m not the oldest guy in the room.” Sometimes, no one is older than me; every single one is younger and that confirms my normal status. To make it even worse, I’ve never heard of most of the younger people. I face an increasing generational gap that’s getting wider than the Grand Canyon. They say age is just a number. But the Gannett Corporation doesn’t have to throw it in my face, every single day.  

 A similar disconnect greets me on the comics page. I read every strip when I was a kid. Little by little, my old favorites have disappeared: Little Lulu, Mutt and Jeff, Gasoline Alley, Popeye, Li’l Abner and the like. Today’s paper had 33 strips, but only 17 that interested me. Some have been with me for ages, like Dagwood and Blondie. You’re never too old to read the comics. (I call them the Funnies) Not only are you guaranteed a chuckle or two, but also, a good dose of wisdom. And, a little humility, like I get, when Earl, of the Pickles comic strip, makes yet another old coot social blunder. My favorites, besides Pickles, are Zits, Peanuts, Curtis, Shoe and BC. What’s yours? No answer?  Then turn to the Funny Pages every once in a while. It will perk up your day.        

 All I can say is, “Support your local newspaper, for the comics, the news and the obits, but more importantly, to sustain the one institution that keeps the government’s foot to the fire. Without them, we become Russia. There is nothing funny about that. 

The Old Coot speeds through time. Article # 1,074 - published 04-03-1924

 The Old Coot speeds along!

By Merlin Lessler

 I just cut my nails. I’m always surprised, it seems that I just cut them. But no! It’s been weeks. Time goes so fast when you’re an old coot. As you go through life, your “time passing” speedometer speeds up. It’s not fast enough when you’re young. A seven year old, sitting at the Thanksgiving table, thinks, “This might be the year I get a bicycle for Christmas.” So excited, until they hear their mother say to their father, “Where did the year go? Only four weeks until Christmas!”

 Four weeks? That’s a lifetime to a seven year old – an eternity. You live for the future when you’re a young kid. And, can’t believe it when you graduate from high school. A surprise that the future snuck up on you and slapped you in the face.

 Not us old coots. We live in the moment. Unfortunately, not the present moment. We look longingly to the past. (Before the world went nuts. Ha Ha) We start many, too many, of our sentences with – I used to…. I once could……When I was a kid… The only people who will listen to topics introduced in this manner are other old coots, but only so they can chime in with their “good-old-days” tale.

 Eventually, our conversations turn to memory issues, since most of our reminisces are rife with - I forgot the name. What-cha- ma-call- it. Thing-a-ma-jig and the like. One of us will shift the conversation to a confession of the things he recently forgot. “I put my wallet down when I came into the house; it was two days before I found it.”  - “I spent ten minutes yesterday, searching for my glasses; my wife pointed out that they were on top of my head.” Then comes the big liar in the group, claiming his memory is just fine. He shuts up when he’s told his shirt is on backwards and he forgot to put on one of his socks.”

 What’s all that got to do with time? You might be asking at this point, especially if you are in your 40’s or 50’s, living on the cusp of old age. Well, you’ll get there too. It’s just a matter of time. Even now, your Time-Passing speedometer is edging over the speed limit. As for me, my memory is excellent, I think, yet I wrote this a month ago and just discovered it in my notebook today.  

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