The Old Coot is magnetic. Published in Tioga County Courier 8/28/24

 The Old Coot is decorated in crumbs.

By Merlin Lessler

I’m a crumb magnet. A similar sounding name to that of a Cro-Magnon, an early man that didn’t make the final cut. But, that’s me, a crumb magnet. My clothes, shirts and pants, but also shoes and socks end the day decorated with a variety of crumbs: toast crumbs, bagel crumbs, lettuce bits (not technically crumbs) and more, collect on my apparel. Whatever moves from plate to mouth scatters in fear, I suppose, of being consumed. I look like Pig Pen, that Peanuts, Comic Strip character, who lived in a swirl of debris.

But I’m not just a crumb magnet; I’m a crumb disperser as well. Multitalented that I am. My magnetism only reaches so far. The particles that don’t lodge on my clothes get strewn to my surroundings. If I have a bagel in the Owego Kitchen for example, the floor beneath my table looks like someone was feeding birds. I herd the crumbs with my foot, over to the table legs, where they’ll be less conspicuous.  

This doesn’t work at home, where there is an area rug at my feet. It attracts the errant crumbs; I have to grab the portable vacuum to hide the evidence, or be accused of eating like a two-year-old.

I need to be fitted with one of those wide brimmed, plastic pet collars that vets use to keep a dog from chewing on a sore, or stitches from an operation. Wouldn’t that be attractive! The only other option I’ve considered, is to eat inside a large garbage bag. That would fix the messy floor problem, but I’d still have crumb laden clothes to deal with. It’s a work in progress. I’m open to suggestions.

Comments?  Be nice! Send to mlessler7@gmail.com

 

Are you an old coot? published August 21, 2024

 The old coot test.

By Merlin Lessler

 Every once in a while, some middle-aged guy will stop me, and ask, “What makes a person an old coot?” I ask them a series of questions and then let them see if their worst fears are coming true. Here are the questions I ask.

 Is the gap between the top of your shoe and the bottom of your pants two inches or greater? (the bigger the gap the more of an old coot you are)

 Do you insist that underwear be white, socks too, no other color is clean?

 Do your shoes either slip-on or fasten with Velcro?

 Does staying up late mean you only doze off twice by bedtime at 11pm?

 Do you wear a fanny pack with the pack in front to the point where you don't use your pockets anymore?

 Do all your conversations start with, “When I was a kid" -"When I was still working" - "When my kids were young” - or the like?

 Do you usually find the things you lost: around your neck, pushed up on top of your head, in your pocket or in your other hand?

 Do you yell at the newscasters on TV?

 Does your belt buckle ride just below your rib cage? (this may explain why your pant cuffs are six inches above your shoes)

 Is your dinner hour 4pm?

 Do you have to sit down to put on your socks, shoes and pants?

 Does everybody under forty look 16 to you?

 Are you the first one to get there: for a party, to vote, for church service and every other event with a start time?

 Do you read the obituaries every day?

 Is the music too loud? Everywhere!

 Is the President, your doctor, dentist, lawyer and every other symbol of authority younger than you?

 Are three or more of your toenails thicker than the edge of a half-dollar and closer to gold than pink? (And do you even know what a half-dollar looks like?)

 Does sleeping through the night mean you only had to get up once?

 Do you leave it that way and shrug, “Oh well,” when you discover you’ve put your sweater on backwards?

 Does it take you a minute or longer to get into or out of your car?

 If you answer “Yes” to 6 or more, you are well on your way, 12 or more, well, what can I say, welcome to the club.

The Old Coot dives right in. Published 8/14/2024

 Old coot takes a dive.

By Merlin Lessler

 (I wrote this article 20 years ago. The other day, my cousin, Pat Martin, sent me a framed copy of this, her “favorite” Old Coot article. I decided it was time to give it another airing.) 

We closed our pool this week. The water temperature slipped below 70 and was headed downhill fast. My wife stops going in when it drops to 80; my limit is 72. Our son will swim when it's in the 60's. If his pals are around, he’ll even go in when it’s in the 50’s. I miss the pool already. It’s kind of a magic device that tells you things about people. Their approach to the water reveals a lot about their personality. It will even tell you what they do for a living, if you know the code.

For instance, some people dive right in. They don't test the water; they don't ask, "How is it?" They walk to the edge, lean over and take the plunge. This group is primarily made up of cops, firemen and nurses. Doctors don't make the cut; they can't get in without asking questions about the temperature, the chemical composition, the depth, the texture of the bottom, etc.

 People who dive in, but then break the surface with a loud scream are in sales. They have to let everyone know how it felt; they can’t help themselves.

 Some people ask a lot of questions about the temperature before they go in: "Is it cold? Do you get used to it? Does it feel OK after you've been in awhile?" They can't go in until they know exactly how they might react to it. People in this group are teachers, lawyers and bank loan officers.

 Another personality group enters the water in a calculated and conservative manner. They start by sticking in a toe, and then the foot. Eventually they bend over and get their hands wet and carefully splash water on their bodies. When they’ve completed their “bird bath” they’re ready to take the plunge. This group finds work as engineers or librarians, unless they go through the process with their backs to the water or with their eyes closed. Then you can find them working in administrative jobs: in schools, government bureaucracies or with accounting firms.

 People who manage to keep their hair dry when they swim are in a special category altogether. They are the titans of business, the corporate “front office” crowd. They get wet but strive to maintain a businesslike image. Dry, combed and styled hair is their substitute for the business suit.

 People who stick in a toe, wave to everyone and then go back and sit in a lounge chair make up the last group that I’ve been able to identify. When they get home, they tell everyone how great the water was, what fun. These people run the government; they're the politicians.

 It’s sad to acknowledge that the pool season is over. I won’t be able to finish my analysis of pool personalities. Oh well, maybe next year.

 Ps. In case you’re wondering how old coots enter a swimming pool, we hop right in, no matter the temperature, in fact the colder the water the better. It’s not because we’re fearless or brave; it’s because we love the rush our systems get from the shock of lowering our body temperature so fast. It speeds up the flow of blood to our entire body. We feel like teenagers, if only for a minute. It’s a nice trip down memory lane.

The Old Coot walks alone. Published Tioga County Courier 7/7/24

 The old coot walks a different path.

By Merlin Lessler 

My walking stick and I took a stroll through the village the other day. I walked along a smooth, paved route on Front and Main Streets. At times, I had to veer around a vehicle parked in my way, but otherwise, it was an uneventful stroll along a macadam surface. Off to my left was a narrow strip of grass adjacent to a mix of cement and slate surfaces that most pedestrians were walking on.

I don’t know what they were thinking! Facing obstacles that lie in wait, like those in a steeplechase racecourse: slate squares and concrete slabs with raised edges, realigned by nature and tree roots to trip young and old alike. Disrupting an otherwise peaceful stroll, past a string of lovely historic homes that define the character of the village. It’s the magic that draws visitors to our town, to shop, to stroll, to lull in peace and escape an otherwise chaotic world, unaware of the dangers that may lurk along their route.

But it wasn’t always like this. There was a time when it was safe to walk through the village, on level sidewalks. Homeowners and village officials were charged with the responsibility to keep them safe. The homeowners, to fix the slabs that caused a tripping hazard, and the village, to cite a code violation when they didn’t comply. The village, at times, shared in the repair or replacement cost, if that year’s board adopted it as a policy. Most homeowners today don’t even know the sidewalk in front of their house is their responsibility. But the village government does, and appears they choose not to enforce the code and allow tripping hazards to exist.

The state DOT redid the 17-C section of Front Street in 1986, including the curbs and sidewalks. Homeowners were given the option of keeping their slate slabs along the front of their lot or change to new concrete slabs, tinted to match the darker color of slate. Old slates were leveled, and new concrete was poured. That was 38 years ago, leading to the challenging conditions we now live with. Maybe our village officials and homeowners will step to the plate, but in the meantime, I’ll be traveling along the safer path. That’s what old coots do.

Comments? Send to mlessler7@gmail.com

The Old Coot is change challenged. (Published 7/31/2024)

 The old coot can’t adapt to change.

By Merlin Lessler

 I’ve been testing my ability to adapt to change. I rate it on a scale of one to ten. When I was young, change couldn’t happen fast enough. I was a solid ten. Over time, my test score declined. This summer it hit a new low. It was automatic doors that did me in. I’d been going in and out of medical facilities to visit people and to undergo some routine old coot tests. As I walked to the first doorway, it opened automatically, throwing me off balance and making me stumble a bit. I got used to it (I gave myself 7 on the 1 to 10 scale). But then, when I walked up to a regular door, I expected it to open; it didn’t, and I nearly planted my face. I’m back and forth; some doors open on their own, some don’t. I’m forced to adapt all the time, and not doing so well. My adaptability skill is low. It’s a crap shoot out there. Will the door open on its own or not?

It's not just automatic doors that challenge my ability to adapt. Automobiles do it too. They’ve taken over, they scold you if you don’t fasten your seat belt, tell you that a door is unlatched, make you step on the brake to start the engine, won’t let you leave the lights on. They lock the doors when you put it in drive. Not a good thing when you get into an accident and a good Samaritan can’t pull you out before it catches on fire or rolls into the river. Some cars keep you in your lane and stop you from crashing into cars in your blind spot when you change lanes. They even prevent you from coming too close to the car in front of you when using cruise control. Little by little they dumb you down. s.

Then, when you get into a car without all that stuff, you could be in trouble with driving skills that have been lost. My adaptation skill level gets overheated. If I rent or borrow a car, I have trouble driving it: to start it, turn on the wipers, adjust the temperature or find a radio station. No two cars are alike. Gear shift lever? No! Just a round knob. - Ignition key? No! Push a button on the dash (if you can find it). I need a lesson and some practice whenever I hop into a strange vehicle. Eventually, I won’t be able to drive or get into a building. A homeless old coot, on foot, who didn’t adapt to change.