May 27, 2017 Article - The Old Coot is an outcast?

The Old Coot sounds the alarm.

By Merlin Lessler

It might be a little early to air this concern, but an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure. A lesson the world learned the hard way, dealing with the corona virus. Now that we’re deep into the process, some alarm bells have begun to go off in my head. This is a little out there, but much of what I opine about is with a tongue in cheek, as is this. It started with good intentions; everyone was asked to avoid exposing the virus to the elderly population. “Anyone over sixty-five is more susceptible to contracting the virus and more likely to have a hard time if they do.” All well and good! So what am I complaining about? It’s what comes next, after the pandemic is history and society has learned how easy it is to herd my crowd into isolation. “For our own good”! 

The media has been at it for a long time, insinuating that we are unable to withstand any difficult situation: hot weather, cold weather, flu season, phone scams, you name it. They portray us as too weak and too stupid to deal with everyday life. Now, this new threat comes along and the “old people” card has been played with vigor. When it’s over, new warnings will be aired- “It’s foggy this morning; people over 65 should stay in place.” – “It’s going to be hot this afternoon; old coots are ordered not to leave their homes.” No matter what goes on, it will be used as an excuse to keep old coots away from mainstream society. That’s my worry.

Society will see this as an opportunity to remove old coots from their midst, to stop our criticism of how things are done today versus how they were back in the “good old days.” We won’t be allowed to stagger around at art shows, sip wine at tastings, clog up the lines at coffee and donut shops or spoil the view at public beaches. Restaurant owners would love an excuse to end those early bird specials and to stop elderly couples from taking up space, splitting meals and cutting into profits. And, you can forget about that six-foot separation rule. It will be increased to eleven feet for seniors, in keeping with that old cliché, “I wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole.” We’re the IT!

Am I paranoid? Probably. Am I right? Could be. Will my crowd be herded onto the proverbial ice floes like elderly Eskimos once were, doomed to succumb to the cold? Well, no! We’re protected from that fate; we’re not allowed to go out in the cold.

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The Old Coot can't see you. May 20, 2020 Article

The Old Coot asks, “Who was that masked man”?

By Merlin Lessler

My facial recognition abilities have been put to the test. And failed! It’s those masks we wear in public places. The other day in a grocery store, I was limping along the baking goods aisle, the wrong way. I finally realized my mistake and turned around, nearly crashing into a married couple who were also walking against the arrow. “I guess we’re going the wrong way on a one-way street?” I chuckled. “I didn’t see the arrow on the floor either.” As they were turning their cart around, I asked, “How are you guys doing. Is the sheltering in place driving you nuts? How are the kids handling it?”

The husband mumbled a curt reply and sped away to the end of the aisle; I went right; they went left. I heard the wife ask, “Who was that guy? Do you know him?” “I have no idea,” he responded. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised; I keep having conversations with people I think I know, but don’t. It’s those darn masks; they hide all our facial features except for our eyes. Oh yea, and those mops on top of our heads that need attention. But eyes often look familiar to me, and friendly. So, I do what comes naturally and engage in conversation.  

It’s happening all too often, causing me to have an identity crisis. Not my identity, the identity of everyone else. Eyes alone don’t give enough information. I need more face, to make out who I’m looking at. The reverse experience is going on too. A pair of eyes will say, “Hey Coot, how you making out?” I don’t know who it is. And I’m instinctively leery of someone wearing a mask. I developed the instinct when I was a kid, watching cowboy movies every Saturday at the Grand Theater on the south side of Binghamton. The bad guys wore masks when they held up a bank or robbed a stage coach. So, I’m nervous when confronted by a person wearing a mask; I deal with the unease by talking, hoping they will think I’m harmless and not shoot me.

But the tide is turning. Now, it’s the people without a mask who are making me nervous. I haven’t made a full transition; I’m stuck being afraid of both masked and unmasked people. The thing that’s bringing me around are my memories of Lone Ranger movies, one of my favorite cowboy heroes. He was a good guy, yet wore a mask. I can’t wait until we’re all unmasked and I can recognize people again. I may not remember their name until later in the day, but I’ll know I know them.

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Old Coot in a Buick? May 12, 2020 Article

The Old Coot drives a Buick?

By Merlin Lessler

I’m driving a Buick. My first one. I don’t know what’s become of me. I shunned Buicks. And Oldsmobile’s, Dodges, DeSoto’s, Cadillac’s all my life. A younger me, associated these sedans with boring, conservative, older people (older than me at the time anyhow). I opted for VW Bugs, VW Busses, MG’s, Chevy’s and Fords. As I grew closer to old coot age, I turned to Isuzu Troopers, Miata’s and Jeeps (young people’s cars).

Now I’m wheeling around in a Buick. It’s seven years old, but it’s still a Buick. I have no shame; I’m old and accept it. And now prove it in my Buick. The word “Buick” was a joke when I belonged to a younger crowd. If someone was sick during the night, especially from overindulging, they would report, “I was a Buick salesman last night.”  That’s what it sounds like when you are on your knees hugging the terlit and spilling your stomach contents. Buick! Buick! Buick! Now, I’m the joke. Not on my knees saying the word Buick, but driving around in one.

If I’ve offended any young Buick owners, I’m sorry, but you shouldn’t be driving around in a Buick. You should get yourself a Jeep Wrangler or something impractical like that and get a Buick when you become a dinosaur.

Switching to a Buick isn’t the only adjustment I’ve made on this adventure into the land of the aged. Last year I had to switch to a girl’s bike, so I could get off without tipping over, and doing a perfect imitation of a newborn colt, standing on his legs for the first time, as I tried to get up off the ground. I kept catching my foot on the seat and proved incapable of remembering to allow for it. Now, I’m not sure even that girl’s bike will work for me in the long haul. I’ve been thinking about getting a three-wheel bike. A “Buick” to the cycling world. Anyhow, they are hard to find and I don’t want to invest another wad of cash like I did last year, experimenting with the girl’s bike. If you have a reasonably priced three-wheeler you want to get rid of, drop me a line (mlessler7@gmail.com).

Meanwhile, I’m tooling around in my Buick, waiting for summer weather. It’s loaded: heated seats, remote starter, heated steering wheel, power seat with memory, Bluetooth and all the rest of modern automobile gadgetry. Things you don’t find in a Jeep Wrangler unless you are willing to spend real big bucks. When the weather finally warms up, I’ll test my skills on the two-wheel girl’s bike, then it’s onward and upward. Up the next rung on the old coot ladder.

Comments, complaints. Sen to mlessler7@gmail.com

May 6, 2020 Old Coot Article - thin paper is upon us.

The Old Coot -household paper on a diet.

By Merlin Lessler

Paper goods are in short supply across the country: toilet paper - paper towels – napkins – tissues and the like. Due to the panic buying that occurred when the corona pandemic unfolded, you can’t blame people for the shortage, though the media tried to. What are you supposed to do when faced with the probability of being confined to your home for an unknown period of time? Hurricanes, blizzards, rising rivers and other pending disasters force us to hoard items we’ll need to survive the situation.  

But, the shortage in paper products has been going on for a long time, long before a diseased bat in a Wuhan wet market allegedly introduced the virus to the planet. No, the paper shortage is something this old coot has been grumbling about for years. Paper products have been thinned down and made narrower. That’s the shortage I’m talking about. Toilet paper, tissues, napkins and cardboard have all gone on diets over the past several years. Thinner, narrower. Just not up to snuff (or a sneeze) like they once were.

I remember sliding down hills on cardboard squares (usually from household appliances) for days and days when I was a kid. The cardboard held up, no matter how many trips down a snowy slope, no matter how much dampness it absorbed. It also held up to flapping on the spokes of our bicycle wheels, producing that motor sound we loved. That was great fun for me until I discovered that some of the spokes became loose, requiring a trip to the bicycle repair shop to have the wobbly wheel tuned up. It cost me three weeks of my meager funds from my lawn mowing and paper route earnings.

The thinning of paper goods was unleashed on the unsuspecting consumer to improve corporate profits. It was done in a way that was hard to detect. I can just picture the scene in the board room when the CEO, sitting around with his executive staff, mulled over ways they could earn their bonuses, tied to the bottom line. Raise the price? Or, reduce the size? All hands shot up for the product downsizing option.  

It’s not just paper products that took a hit in the board room – food packaging has been downsized too: cereal boxes, canned goods, everything that could be made incrementally smaller has gone on a diet. The one that bothers me most, is the reduced size of ice-cream containers. They look like they are about the same size as they always were, but they’re not. The corners have been rounded and the width narrowed. It’s been a well-executed process, designed to fool all the people, all the time. Something PT Barnum said couldn’t be done, but he was wrong. But not us old coots who are ice-cream aficionados; we noticed. You can only fool us old fools some of the time. Like when we cough up our credit card information to a nice lady on the phone who threatens an IRS confiscation of our bank account. But mess with our ice-cream, and we’re all over it. Right, Rick Cadran?

Comments? Complaints?  Send to mlessler7@gmail.com

Old Coot defines new normal. - April 29, 2020 Article

Old Coot’s own the term – New Normal

By Merlin Lessler

We’re living in a new world – sheltered in place – quick trips to grocery stores, take out food places, gas stations and the like. Not everyone. Essential workers are on the job, keeping us functioning. It’s the NEW NORMAL. I only have one complaint! The media stole my crowd’s terminology - new normal. It’s a way of life for us old coots – we move to a new normal several times a year; it starts the day we sign up for Social Security, a stealthy beast creeps up on us when we’re not paying attention.

It throws in a little arthritis here – a hip ache there – a “What did I come in the kitchen for,” moment. At first you run to your doctor, “I can’t walk on the high school track as fast as I used to and it makes me tired.” You get the (new normal) answer, “You have to expect that at your age.” Sometimes you get those exact words, though my primary care physician claims he never said that to me. Whatever! What he thinks he said, changed in midair on the trip from his lips to my ears. My older, old coot mentors, warned me when I boarded the old coot train, “You have to get used to it! You've got a ton of new normals coming your way; you’re just getting started.” Darned if they weren’t right!

Now, I hardly think about it, this aging process loaded with new normals! THAT” S A LIE! I think about it all the time. Every new normal is like a poke in the eye. Then I adjust and grudgingly accept it.

The last time I went to the doctor, he asked me if I had any new issues. I said, “Not really – I do get a sharp pain in my side quite often – I get up three times a night – my knee is sore – I limp a little – I get tired easily, just those kind of things.” He gave me that scolding parent look and asked why I hadn’t come in sooner. I explained, “I just thought they were new normals. So, after a lot of tests, X-rays, sonograms and the like. He figured it out; a kidney stone (it went away on its own), a little arthritis flare up (it backed off), a nerve problem in my arms and legs (that one stuck around). My new normal eased a bit, but I still ended up at a new old coot plateau.

Then, at the wrap up visit for dealing with those issues, he scolded me again, “Get in here and get things checked out instead of thinking every change is a new normal. I asked why he couldn’t accept, that whenever I climb another rung on the old coot ladder, I call it my new normal. He just shook his head. A few weeks later, I received a letter from his practice announcing his retirement. Imagine that, a young guy in his early 60’s stepping off the work train. (I can’t complain too much; I did it when I was fifty-seven). He probably got fed up with old coots in general, and me in particular. Now, I have yet another new normal to adjust to – a so called “get acquainted” appointment with a new physician. I hope she’s up to it.

Comments, complaints? Send to mlessler7@gmail.com

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April 22 Article, Feeding time at the zoo!

The Old Coot audits the zoo!

By Merlin Lessler

Feeding time at the zoo! That’s my topic this week. But it’s a zoo without bars – it’s a restaurant – it’s a snack bar – a deli – our kitchens and dining rooms. The attractions in this zoo are people; it’s you; it’s me; it’s everybody! We all have unique feeding habits. They change over time. Some for the better, some for the worse. Andy Hayfer got me going on this – starting it off with two feeding styles that he’d recently noticed. He calls them the food-to-face style and the face-to-food style. People who hold a Whopper, for example, just above the plate and lean in to take huge bites without moving their hands are demonstrating the face-to-food style. You see this a lot with hungry teenagers, a time in life when you get so hungry it hurts (hunger pains). It’s the reason the word “famished” was created. Old guys like me do this too, to minimize the spillage onto our clothes, the stains that we’re famous for – shirts splattered with ketchup, mustard, coffee dribbles, spaghetti sauce and the like.

It takes skill and patience to handle the opposite feeding style, food to face. Eating soup without leaning in is an art form, one that is well beyond my present state of dexterity. I’m so close to the soup bowl that the steam makes my hair frizzle. Spaghetti is another item that is hard to transport from the plate to your mouth. It requires a partial face-to-food style. The average person employs both food styles, though one style usually dominates their feeding habits. Sometimes, it depends on where they are, at home or in public.

Of course, feeding time at the zoo reveals more varied eating habits than food-to-face and face-to-food. There are the endless chewers, on par with a cow chewing its cud – the gulp it down wolfers - the wash it down with drink, skipping the chewing function. Then, there are the people who eat with their eyes closed or their mouth’s open. You see the latter on many of the morning TV shows, where a chef is on the set, cooking up an exotic dish. The TV personalities sample the results, digging in like starved teenagers and talking as they chew with their mouths full of food.

People who cut up all the food at once use another feeding style. The opposite style is seen with people who cut a bite’s worth at a time, swapping their knife and fork from one hand to the other, unless they employ the European style of eating and never switch the utensils. It’s a style I’ve tried to master but never succeeded. There are people who eat one item one their plate, finish it, and move to the next one. Most of us mix it up, moving around the plate in a random fashion. Picky eaters are yet another style on display in the human eating zoo; they leave large, untouched portions on their plates. A kid thing? Sure. But adults do it too.

How about dessert eating styles? Do you save the best for last? Or dig into the best part first, eating the fudge off a hot fudge sundae for example. I confess; I do the opposite; I save the best for last. When presented with a slice of cake I finish off the cake part first and then go for the frosting. I haven’t been able to break the habit which I developed when I was a boy and my mother let me “lick the beaters” after she finished making the frosting in her Mixmaster.  I’m a frosting addict.  So, what style eater are you?  If you dare, you can find out by eating in front of a mirror. You may get a big surprise. You may never feel comfortable eating in public again. I tried it. Now I limit my public food consumption to hot dogs, in spite of the mustard stains that invariably decorate my clothes. My feeding style is called “Old Coot Stain Master.

Comments; complaints? Send to mlessler7@gmail.com

April 15th, 2020 Article - Old Coot is ADEQUATE

The Old Coot lives in “Adequate” land.

By Merlin Lessler

A few days into the New Year, I asked a distinguished, not quite elderly, gentleman how his holiday went. He hesitated a moment; I could see the wheels spinning in his head, and then replied, “Adequate! My holiday was adequate.” Finally! Someone with an honest answer! Older guys do this. Everyone else I’d asked, gave me a “politically correct” reply: Great! –  Nice! - Wonderful! That sort of thing, but often with a qualifier, such as – “It was nice, but it was hectic- stressful - a lot of work. Followed with a barely audible, and with a hint of guilt, “I’m so glad it’s over.”

The truth is, the magic of Christmas has lost some of its luster for most adults. Especially compared to the memories of when we believed in Santa Claus. They can’t be recaptured. Sometimes it comes close; some magic sneaks in, but it never lives up to those childhood experiences.

That,” Adequate,” response, that Joel came up with, caught me off guard, a nice surprise and quite unique. He didn’t go negative with a, “Bah Humbug,” answer, but rather, with a precise, understandable and believable, “ADEQUATE!” A holiday with electric trains, bicycles, dolls, dollhouses and Daisy air rifles under the tree is a magic time that is hard to duplicate. But, setting up “adequate” as an expectation, works well. A nice meal, time with friends and family, a sea of snacks, candy, calories and carbs. And, no guilt for that period of (unhealthy) holiday eating.

I think, “Adequate,” is the response I might have received from people who gave an enthusiastic reply, but the pressure of social norms prevented them from saying anything negative about the Christmas Holiday, no matter how slight. Adequate, is the correct adjective for many of us. And, if we admitted it, our holiday fibs would come to an end.

I especially like the word because I live in an everyday world of” Adequate.” I just never thought to use that adjective to describe my day-to-day existence. I’m going to adopt it as go-to reply. “How you are doing Old Coot?” – “Adequate,” I’ll say. It has a great social benefit. Us old guys go into detail, thinking people really want to know how we are. They don’t! They are forced to stand silent, listening as we go on and on about our ailments and the failings of modern-day society. Their eyes glaze over; they stop paying attention; they shift their focus to coming up with an escape plan. I don’t know how you’ll rate this article, but I’m not shooting for GREAT or FANTASTIC. Adequate will do just fine.

Comments, complaints – Send to mlessler7@gmail.com