Brr, that water is cold! - Old Coot Article - Tioga NY County Courier

 The Old Coot took a dive.

By Merlin Lessler

 I took a swim the other day. It wasn’t planned. Some people would classify it as a fall, something they keep track of when you’re an old coot. I call it an unexpected immersion.

 The Johnson’s Pool people were here to “open” our pool. I usually do it myself but my wife decided I’m too old to pull the cover off without falling in or creating a mess with the junk that lies on top of the cover. I hate it when she’s right! So anyhow, the Johnson pool crew had the cover off, all the plugs removed and were prepping the filter and pump mechanism, a short distance behind the pool. I was backing around the edge, blasting the maple tree helicopters away from the edge of the pool with a hose. It was a chilly afternoon; I dressed for the weather in jeans, a winter sweater and a jacket.

 It was the least I could do, this little housekeeping chore. As I backed around one of the corners, which are rounded off, I miscalculated and backed right over the edge into the pool.  I used to take a dip with my son when we took off the cover in April or early May. It was a tradition – 2 brave souls in 50 degree water. I was a lot younger in those days; my son Zachary moved out on his own and the tradition came to an end. Until now! Our pool is the smallest that Johnsons ever installed, at least at the time -10 feet by 20 feet, 5 and 1/2 feet deep in the deep end.

 I wasn’t in any danger as I took my unplanned dip in the 49-degree water that had just been treated with three gallons of chlorine. With supervision and yelps from my wife, I paddled to the shallow end and climbed out, a drowned rat coughing from chlorine fumes. My cell phone decided to stay in the pool, sinking to the bottom in the deep end. Now, I have a new one. And know for sure, that the rice-in-a-bag treatment for a wet phone doesn’t work for one that took a long swim.

 I hope I haven’t started a new pool opening tradition. I can’t afford to buy a new cell phone every year.

 Comments? Send to – mlessler7@gmail.com

The Old Coot doesn't get it. A Tioga County Courior article of 6/02/21

 

The Old Coot is an old dog.

By Merlin Lessler

 I don’t know if it’s true or not – the saying – “You can’t teach old dogs new tricks.” I do know it’s true for me. I can’t learn or adapt to anything new. Take the way the media describes the different generations; baby boomers, generation -X, Gen-2, Millennials and the like, and then assigns characteristics to a group and predicts how they will behave in certain situations. Whenever they do that on TV, I yell at my screen, “What are you talking about?”

  I’ve had the terms explained to me; I’ve worn out the Google icon on my cell phone looking them up, but the meaning never sticks. My high school graduating class, Binghamton Central High School class of 1960, is in a generational designation that doesn’t fit. We’re part of the “Silent Generation,” people born between 1928 and 1945. Those of us born during the war (me and my high school cronies) were unaware of what was going on in the world or of the day-to-day restrictions the population endured to support the war effort (gas rationing, lack of building supplies, no new cars and limited supplies of grocery items). We have nothing in common with the members of the Silent Generation born in the 1920’s and early to mid-1930’s. They have very distinct memories of life in that era. We’re more like Baby Boomers (those born between 1946 and 1964), but we’re not allowed in that club.

  I don’t like generational labels. And, not just because I can’t remember what they mean. They don’t make sense; the way attributes of different aged people are clumped together. Take “Millennials,” for example – people born between 1981 and 1997. They are now aged 24 to 40. The two halves of that age group are like night and day when it comes to predicting how they might behave in various situations.

 Here’s how I look at the generations, in terms I think most people can understand. Terms that are tried and true. Or were, until the media started talking down to us by using sociological terms instead of everyday language. My groupings start with babies, then moves up the age chart: toddlers - little kids – pre-teens – teenagers – college kids – young adults – middle agers – seniors, and finally, old coots & nice little old ladies. These are age clumps that have fairly similar outlooks on life, behaviors and opinions. This is coming to you from an unproud member of the Silent Generation. We’re not silent at all. We’re notorious for airing our half-baked opinions on today’s society and how much better things were in the good old days. But you know that if you made it this far.

 Comments, complaints? Send to – mlessler7@gmail.com

The Good Life. Old Coot Article of May 26/21 Tioga Co. Courier

 

The Old Coot finds a lost notebook.

By Merlin Lessler

 I wrote this article on February 24, 2021 at 8:30 am and then misplaced the notebook it was in because I broke my rule, to never reorganize my stuff; I often never find it again.  – As I write this, I’m sitting on a park bench in Ormond Beach, Florida with the Halifax River at my back and the Atlantic Ocean, two blocks away. I’m staring at the winter residence of John D. Rockefeller. The house and the riverside park I’m sitting in is called The Casements, because of all the casement windows in the dwelling. It is now a museum and a gathering space for public events. The park is lined with benches along the river, walkways, greenery, a pond and an open air pavilion. It plays host to many activities, from old fashion fairs to weddings. It’s often occupied by walkers (with and without dogs) joggers, people on bicycles (like me) young mothers and nannies pushing strollers. It’s a great space, well used and much appreciated.

 Rockefeller picked it for his home because of the climate and the proximity to the ocean and the river. He figured this idyllic spot gave him the best chance of making it to 100. He could afford to live anywhere, but this is the place he chose. He moved here when he was in his70’s, and made it to age 97. Not bad. I’m trying to do the same, visiting the park on my way home from Starbucks each morning, stopping to sip coffee, plug away at an old coot article and people watch. I’m not an owner, like Rockefeller was, just an interloper, soaking up the ambiance.

 It’s ironic that he ended up in Ormond Beach, and so did I (at least part of the year), and that he also considered Owego, his hometown area, having been born nearby in Richford, NY and then moved to a farm on the outskirts of the Owego Village, where he attended high school in what is now one of the county office buildings.   

 What’s my point? It just shows you don’t have to be a Rockefeller to enjoy the embrace of a quaint village in the north and an estate’s grounds between a river and the sea in the south. The good life is out there and available. All you have to do is recognize it and enjoy it.     

 Comments, complaints. Send to – mlessler7@gmail.com

The Old coot's car is distracting - A Tioga County Courier Article

 

His car hates the Old Coot

By Merlin Lessler

 I rant about today’s cars as often as I do about the weather zealots on TV. This is my eighth car rant in the last five years. Meteorologists make us afraid of weather; auto makers make us afraid of our cars. They give us stuff we didn’t ask for and don’t want - like keys that cost hundreds of dollars to replace - annoying tire pressure alarms - unnecessary “check engine” alerts.  I ignore those annoying icons by covering them with black electrical tape. I’m also irked because they took away things I loved - chrome plated steel bumpers, hood ornaments that looked cool and made it easier to keep a car in the lane, and tailgate windows that opened. You could slide a kayak or pile of 2 X 4’s in the car and let them stick out the back window. Today’s tailgate windows don’t let you do that; you have to leave the hatch open, flapping in the breeze.   

 I’m through complaining about those issues; my complaint today is about the smart screen that’s replaced the knobs and levers you could operate without taking your eyes off the road. If I want to change the station on the radio, I can’t reach over and feel for a knob to do it; I have to look at a smart screen, find the up or down arrow, and tap. The same thing is true with the heater controls.

 The operation of smart screens is complicated. You can’t jump into a strange car and drive away. You need a prep course. I’ve leafed through my manual so often it’s falling apart. And, I’m more of a distracted driver than I ever was. Even the headlight switch, which I could operate blindfolded, now forces me to look at it since it has three or four options, indicated by icons I don’t quite understand. I’m icon challenged. Back in the days of automobile sanity, I reached to my left, pulled the knob halfway out for parking lights and all the way out for head lights. I also could dim the lights by stepping on a button with my left foot. Nice and simple!

 The smart screen has taken over. The days when you could control things without taking your eyes off the road are gone. Operating a cell phone while driving is illegal, yet the car’s smart screen, which is more distracting, isn’t. It really gets me when I’m driving along, munching on a Big Mac, holding a milkshake between my knees, working on a crossword puzzle and need to adjust the heater. I have to focus my attention on the smart screen and usually tip over my milk shake. If I get into an accident and get ticketed for distracted driving, I’ll plead, “Not guilty; the car made me do it!”

 Comments? – Complaints? Send to mlessler7@gmail.com

The Old Coot's view never changes - A Tioga County (NY) Courier Article

 

The Old Coot enjoys the view.

By Merlin Lessler

 Being human, is like driving a car and looking out the windshield. For 70, 80 and even 100 years, the view from inside, the sense of self, is pretty much the same. The sky, clouds, countryside, towns and cities seem the same, feel the same. You notice that your “engine” has lost some horsepower, your body is bent, dented and showing signs of rust, but as you look out on the world, it feels just like it did when you were younger:  17, 47, or even 78 (like I am). Until you step on the gas and the motor sputters a bit, you’d never know (from your viewpoint on the inside) that you’re driving around in a heap.

 Whether I’m sitting down, looking out my window at the hills, or peddling my bicycle through the countryside, I have no idea that I’m no longer 17. It’s my favorite age, for reasons I don’t fully understand. Maybe, because it was my last year in high school and I was in the safe zone before turning 18 and getting a draft card. Back then it meant you could walk into any bar in the country, show your card and order a beer, not realizing that it also meant Uncle Sam could reach out and grab you for military service whenever the mood struck him.

 Anyhow, now that age 80 is rushing at me, like a baseball pitched in a major league game, I can’t help but be amazed that the view, my perspective of self, is unchanged. It’s exactly like it was when I was a boy in high school, though I’m not as street dumb as I was back then; I thought old timers were OK that life’s end was coming their way, and soon.  NOT SO! No matter what us old coots say, things like, “I’m ready to go; I had a good life.” It’s a lie! We want to put as much mileage as we can on the old heap we’re traveling in. Just like young adults. Probably more so, since we’ve come to realize what a gift life is.

 So, on we go – stomping down on the gas. Don’t get in our way; we’ll run you over. Especially when we’re backing up; we don’t bother looking; we can’t waste the time. We’re teenagers (in our minds) and living high. LOL

 Comments? Complaints? Send to -  mlessler7@gmail.com

Old Coot is prepared. Tioga Tioga County Courier Article 5/5/21

 

The Old Coot found a peanut.

By Merlin Lessler

 I was sitting in my recliner chair working on a crossword puzzle when I noticed a peanut lying on my chest. I reached down to grab it, to eat it, and discovered it wasn’t a peanut; it was the button on my shirt. Such is life for an old coot – to expect scraps of food on your shirt, that blend in with the coffee, mustard and ketchup stains. It makes me wish that tie-dye shirts of the Hippie Era I grew up in, were back in style. Those were the good old days. When, no matter what you dopped on your shirt, it blended in.

 If you want to see a happy, well adjusted old coot, look for a guy wearing a tie-dye shirt – slip on shoes, no socks and cargo shorts.  Sometimes with the shirt on backwards; sometimes with shoes that don’t match.

 The Tie-dye shirts, because of the aforementioned food dribble problem. Shorts, because they are much easier to get into than long pants. Cargo shorts in particular, because of their plethora of pockets (boy, I love that word), so we can carry all the junk that just might be needed: jack knife, wallet, cell phone, band-aid, map, tissue, pen, paper, yo-yo, tums, medical insurance cards, a length of string and the like. We’re not Boy Scouts, but we are prepared!

 Socks, we’ve discovered aren’t necessary and not wearing them makes us look sort of hip – like the sockless, yuppie young adults who mock us. Slip-on shoes need no explanation other than they prevent a head rush when we bend down and stop us from taking a tumble in the process. 

 I got into all this because I thought a peanut resting on my chest was a button. Now, I have to conclude and get into the kitchen and hope there is a can of peanuts in the cupboard. For some reason I’ve developed a sudden craving.       

 Complaints? Comments? Send to – mlessler7@gmail.com

Old Coot can't move stuff. April 20, 2021 Tioga County (NY) Courier Article

 The Old Coot loses it!

By Merlin Lessler

 This is what I call, Old Coot Survival Tip # 27: NEVER REARRANGE! Don’t move stuff to a new location! When I do, I might just as well throw it away. It would be less aggravating. Once you relocate something, you never see it again. At least not when you want it. You might stumble on it at a later date, but for all practical purposes, it’s lost.

 Last summer I couldn’t find our pool skimmer. Our pool is only 10 X 20 and 5 foot deep in the so called, “deep” end. It’s a great place for an old coot to do laps and then brag that I did 25 laps. Sounds good! But it’s equivalent to doing 7 laps in a school pool.

 All summer long, I looked for that telescoping pole with a net on the end. I use it to skim leaves out of the pool, but also to wash down the house, replacing the net with a brush. It lets me reach the high points on our 216 year old clapboards, to clean off the grime from the previous winter. I wouldn’t dare go at it with a pressure washer, too aggressive for the old gal.

 All summer, I searched the garage, the hallway where we keep the rakes and other lawn and garden items and the back yard. I’d always kept it in the corner of the garage but moved it because it got in the way when I opened the door. It drove me nuts, not being able to find it.

 Every other week I searched, to no avail! Then one day when I was in the garden-tool hallway and happened to look up, there it was, resting horizontally on two hooks, near the ceiling. The light bulb, in my head, came on. Oh yeah, I remembered the “genius” relocation idea I’d had last fall.

 I wish that was a one-time thing, but I have stuff scattered all over the place, totally lost to me when I need it, because it’s been relocated. Even this article was lost for six months; I moved the notebook I wrote it in to a new location. Seemed like a good idea at the time. I should have known better since it made the argument to never rearrange. I didn’t follow my own advice. Another example of “Do as I say, not as I do.” Maybe that should be Tip #28.

 Comments?  Send to – mlessler7@gmail.com