The Old Coot doesn't like being nagged. Published Tioga County Courier and others on 01/22/25

 The Old Coot shrugged off a nag.

By Merlin Lessler

 First we stuck in a toe, then two and now our whole foot is into the use of an electronic nag. It started innocently enough, with Fitbit, which came out in 2009. It counted steps, distance and calories burned. It nudged us to get moving, something our obese, out of shape society needed. Then, it became a competition. “I did 5,000 steps today!” – “I did 10,000.” “Oh yea, I did 20,000!” Now, those enjoyable walks through neighborhoods, towns and parks became something the “step counting” devices nagged us about.   

 They evolved to measure everything. And, Nag! Nag! Nag! “You only got 5 hours of “good” sleep last night,” the App might scold. “And, you’re way under your goal of 10,000 steps a day this week. Your heart rate never made it to the recommended exercise level; so, you didn’t achieve the full benefit of your effort.”

 It’s not just steps and sleep. The nanny Apps scold us on much more; swimming, biking, running and sleeping to name a few. Studies of these electronic monitoring devices conclude that they are counterproductive. “Your goal to maintain an average speed of 20 Mph on your bike ride ended in failure! You only hit 18 MPH!” How does a message like that make you feel? Not good. It puts you into a funk and raises anxiety when you ride, trying to achieve a pre-set goal. The focus is on hitting the target, instead of enjoying a pleasant, relaxing journey on your feet, in a pool, or on a bike. Even a trip into dreamland..

 The fun is gone. I have to stop this discourse and attend to a nag. My $35, knock-off, fitness watch is reminding me that I have not hit my 5,000 step goal. I don’t mock the people who use electronic nags; I’m a victim myself. But, I’m working to stop. That’s why I dropped my 10,000 step goal to 5,000. I now can ride my bike and swim without tracking. I once weaned myself out of an Oreo cookie addiction and I can do this too. If I can do it, so can you. Start slowly; lower your goals. Eventually, you can go back to a watch that just tells the time. That’s enough anxiety to live with.

The Old Coot says it's all in a name. Published 1/15/25

 The Old Coot says just call me Coot.

By Merlin Lessler

 I’ve had dealings with some pleasant and interesting people over the last few months. A profitable exchange with Coin Dealer Scott, a better than imagined outcome with Tree Trimmer Mike and an always competent outcome with Insurance Agent Woody. Some of my Florida interactions took place with Real-estate Michael, Car Dealer Iancu and Builder Mike.

I guess you can see the pattern here. Every person’s name was preceded by their profession. A little weird isn’t it? At first glance anyhow. But not if you put it into the context of how we address select, so called professionals. It’s not Chuck Schumer, it’s Senator Schumer or Congressman Smith and Congresswoman White. College teacher Cawley is Professor Cawley or Doctor Cawley. Most of us save the use of “Doctor,” for medical doctors, but some PHD graduates refer to themselves as doctor too. Even some with just an honorary degree. I’ve made up the names to protect the innocent. The ones like Doctor Brown who says, “Please just call me Bill.”

 We don’t live in a monarchy where people are forced to address royals like King Charles or Prince William and a whole litany of other regal designations. This is good old America where we are all equals. We are free to call everyone by name, not title. But, maybe the title first and then name is the way to go. I’d like it if it applied across the board. I’d have no trouble calling the mechanical genius who fixes my car, Auto-Mechanic Joe. Or the craftsman who handles all the household repairs on my residence, Carpenter and Handy Man Lee.

 My preference for using vocational titles for everyone would not set well with the crowd that gets that special treatment. Politicians and college professors would be insulted by our lack of respect. Some of them anyhow. They wouldn’t want to be in the Joe Blow category where the rest of us reside. They’d claim, “I worked hard and long to get here” (in the privileged class). Not any harder than a Master Plumber or cabinet maker or the McDonald’s CEO, who started out flipping burgers and earned his way to the top..   

 As for myself, I’ll stick with my “Joe Blow” status and happily be referred to as Old Coot, or like many of my friends do, just plain Coot.

Old Coot wants a coffee warm-up. Published 1/08/25

 The Old Coot gets a warm-up.

By Merlin Lessler

I was in a brand new Starbucks near Disney World the other morning. It was early, I was one of only three people inside. Everyone else was at the drive-thru window. I cashed in some “stars” for a free Grande, dark roast coffee (that’s medium in the rest of the world) plus a sort of toasted bagel with sort of cream cheese. I sat there reading the Wall Street Journal on my I-Pad, a gift from my daughter and son-in law in 2016. It’s a gift that keeps on giving.

Anyhow, after half an hour I had a quarter cup of cold coffee left. I went to the counter to get a “warm up.” I asked the server to add a splash of hot coffee to the remnants in my cup. Refills are free if you are a gold card member, which I am. He gave me a puzzled look, then turned to the new coffee making mechanism. It grinds, it perks, and it dispenses, all by itself. It’s a gadget that was developed to make the process brainless, run by artificial intelligence, the craze that has taken over the world. It gurgled, growled, hissed a bit and poured the dark liquid I’m addicted to into my cup. Not a warm up! But an overflowing fill up. He handed the overflowing cup to me and apologized for the results. I thanked him for trying, went to the restroom and poured half the contents down the sink, leaving a trail of spillage along my route.

How different the world has become. It constantly makes me reminisce about the good old days, when you went to a diner for coffee and toast, or whatever, and the waitress came around with a pot of hot coffee to give customers a warm up. It still goes on, at diners like the Harris Diner in Owego, New York. Sometimes, it’s not the waitress who comes around, it’s a customer who goes behind the counter, grabs a pot, and wanders table to table giving people a splash of hot coffee. I’m a lucky guy, to have a foot in both worlds. One, where the machine is not as intelligent as portrayed and gives me a chuckle, and the other, where people are better at the task.

Comments? Complaints? Send to mlessler7@gmail.com

The Old Coot engineers a solution. Published 1/1/25

 The Old Coot engineers a solution.

By Merlin Lessler

I’m not an engineer. At least not with a four year degree. I’m missing some credit hours. But, I am an “engineer,” with a small “e.”  A lot of people are. Engineering is mostly a mindset, the ability to puzzle things out. A technical degree provides a deeper knowledge to work with; you need it to design a bridge or an electronic circuit. But for a lot of other tricky issues in life, you just need the engineering mind-set.

That’s a lot of blah, blah to get me to the point – My greatest engineering accomplishment! It took place four years ago when I had a severe reaction to the cholesterol medicine I’d been on for years. I started to lose strength in my arms and legs, and didn’t really notice until the day I had trouble getting up a single stair. It’s all behind me now, the cause determined and eliminated; my strength is back to normal. (An 82-year old normal)

When I was in that weakened state, I had to use the full spectrum of my engineering ability to deal with it. Especially if I fell or slipped to the ground. I became that “Help, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!” person. I slipped down several times, when I was out on my own getting into the car. Once it was the garbage man who picked me up. Another time, it was a nice couple in a grocery store parking lot. The last time, it was a guy in a pick-up truck. I changed my technique; I started backing into the car seat, instead of stepping up and in. Duh! Took me long enough to figure that one out. Some engineer!   

My real concern was getting off the floor at home. Even when my wife was with me we sometimes had to get a friend to help. We went to a physical therapy center to see if there was a technique we could use. We spent an hour going through a laundry list of commonly used techniques. Nothing worked. I was too weak. I was determined to come up with a solution. I spent one whole night in a recliner chair, straining my brain to find a solution. Thinking, dozing, dreaming. That’s when I made my greatest engineering feat. I had a plan.

Now, to try it out. I asked my wife to get a small cooler from the garage. She looked at me like I was nuts. I get that a lot. The cooler was narrow, 6 inches high when it was placed on its side. I got down on the floor; I still had enough arm strength to crawl over to it. I slid it next to a lounge chair in the living room and was strong enough to sit up on the floor and up on it. From there, I pushed up another six inches and sat on the chair. It was too low for me to gain my feet, but the chair next to it, on four inch risers, was not. I slid across the first chair and up onto the second. From there I got to my feet. I was so proud of myself. I’d regained my freedom. No more, “Help, I’ve fallen and can’t get up!” I could be left home alone; my wife got her freedom too. It was my greatest engineering feat ever!