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!

The Old Coot needs a stunt-man double. Published 12/25/024

 The Old Coot needs a stunt man.

By Merlin Lessler

I was in the Daytona State College Phys/Ed locker room the other day. I swung my leg over the bench in front of my locker. I didn’t lift it high enough, and stumbled but caught myself before I could fall. That’s one of the problems of being an old coot – you make what seems like the same effort you always made to do something (picking up my leg, in this case) and the result isn’t the same as it once was. Hence, me stumbling over the locker room bench.

Things like that don’t go unnoticed. Jeff, a fellow lap swimmer, said I looked like Kramer on Seinfeld, who is always stumbling around making some spectacular staggers. He wondered out loud if Kramer used a stunt double on the show. (He didn’t according to Google) Jeff’s comment got me thinking. That’s what I need, a stunt double. To get me safely through the day. Doing ordinary things that I’m no longer adept at. – Like stepping over something without tripping. My day would go so much smoother and be anxiety free. Like when I swing my leg over the back wheel to get off my bicycle; it sometimes catches on the tire and sends me reeling in a backwards stumble. I’ve only fallen once doing this and that was more than ten years ago when I was a young old coot. Since then, I take great care getting off my bike, but if I had a stunt double, I could hop off with ease.

I could pop up and out of the swimming pool, save myself the trouble of sloshing to the stairs at the other end of the pool. My double could climb a step ladder to change a light bulb in an overhead fixture. Or, reach down to pick up a quarter off the ground. Old coots like me drop stuff all the time, not just money. I could employ a stunt man on a full time basis to bend down and pick things up.

My wife would love it if he stood in for me when I have coffee with the boys or dine on a plate of spaghetti and meatballs. Then I wouldn’t come home wearing a shirt splattered with stains. But I like Italian food too much to use a stand-in. You can only go so far with this stunt double stuff.       

 

 

The Old Coot and cardboard boxes equal's fun. (Published December 11, 2024)

 The Old Coot + a cardboard box = fun.

By Merlin Lessler

 

A recent “Family Circus” comic strip pictured 2 kids and a dog hanging around a huge cardboard box. The caption said, “Mommy got a new washer, and we got a new clubhouse.” It reminded me of the day my mother got her new AUTOMATIC washing machine; it was in the early 1950’s. It was a big day at our house. That dinged up old ringer washer was moved aside, and a sparkling new Maytag took its place; it was connected to the faucets in the nearby stationary sink that she used to soak clothes in to start her usual cleaning process. My mother didn’t trust the new machine that hid what it was doing under the lid, so she continued to soak everything before loading it into the Maytag. She even continued to use the scrub board and bar of yellow soap to remove the grass stains on the knees of my jeans, which we called dungarees in those days. Jeans were what girls wore.

 

My sister and I garnered the box and turned it into a club house. My friend, Woody, and I added a “No girls allowed,” sign on the flap and took possession. First, in the basement and then outside. We used it to slide down the steep, snow covered hill in my backyard. Cardboard was quite durable in those days, much more rugged than it is now. That box stayed intact for weeks, getting soggy, but maintaining its size and shape as it dried out on the back porch, awaiting the next snowfall.

 

Eventually, we cut it into 4 pieces, giving us 4 sleds so some neighborhood kids could join us. It didn’t take much to entertain kids in those pre-TV days. We spent most of our free time outside. Through snow, sleet, rain and the dark of night. We would have made excellent postal carriers.

 

Those old cardboard boxes added to our supply of toys shared in the neighborhood: stilts, pogo sticks, trikes & bikes, sleds, balls, bats & gloves and roller skates. If we didn’t have the right equipment, we borrowed it, sometimes without asking. It was a bonanza era for cardboard boxes; ringer washers were replaced by automatics, old gas stoves with new electric ones and ice boxes replaced by electric refrigerators. The recycling was handled by us kids, using, and wearing out all those boxes. We cut the scraps into small squares and fastened them to the fender braces on our bikes with a clothes pin to make a motorized sound. Sociologists should refer to the span of time between the end of World War ll and the 1960’s as the cardboard box era. I’m so glad I was there.

 

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

The Old Coot likes knobs and switches. Published November 4, 2024 - Tioga County Courier

 The Old Coot cheers the change.

By Merlin Lessler

It’s been 20+ years in the coming, but knobs, sliders, switches and other physical controls are making a comeback in automobile design. If you’re less than 30 years old, you’ll wonder what I’m talking about. Let me explain. You could once control most functions behind the wheel, blindfolded. Want more heat? Reach over to the slider switch and move it to the right.  Need the fan to blow harder? Turn the knob next to the slider switch. You didn’t have to see it. You could feel it. No touch screen to distract you from keeping your eyes on the road.

Those screens cause more accidents than cell phones. That’s my take anyhow. It’s the same thing with household appliances. Printed circuit boards and touch screens dominate the landscape. I can’t even change the clock on our Samsung range without downloading an App and connecting to the brain (artificial intelligence) inside the unit. I won’t get into our washing machine. Another nightmare that decides I can’t change water temperature in a preset mode. I’m too stupid to be allowed that freedom. A/I has pushed my wants aside.

Get in a strange car? Good luck finding out how to control things. Every smart screen is different and uses symbols that are old coot, un-friendly. I can’t even get it right on an elevator when I try to press the “shut the door” button. Car manuals are now used more than ever. I guess you can read it while driving. Not any more dangerous than reaching over and drilling down through a menu on a touch screen. A screen that is getting bigger and bigger and probably will eventually replace the windshield entirely. Pushing us further into a virtual world.  

All is not lost. Some auto manufacturers have figured out that touch screens aren’t cutting edge anymore. Tesla and VW are leading the pack, and starting to add knobs and switches for commonly used functions. They had to hire designers that didn’t grow up playing video games and using touch screens. They hired some old coots to guide them to a new/old future. A safer one!

Comments? Send to mlessler7@gmail.com

        

The Old Coot reads in pieces. Published in New York, November 27, 2024

 The Old Coot reads in chunks.

By Merlin Lessler 

I started re-reading a book that I first read in 2018 – “The Shipping News,” by E. Annie Proulx. A nice read! 9.9 on a 1 to 10 scale. I learned many years ago, I could re-read a book after five years and most of it would seem new, as though I never read it.

This re-read was especially nice since the binding came apart and the book split into six sections. I like that. I could shove a section into my back pocket and pull it out whenever I had time to kill. I read four sections when I was in Florida and the last two, in New York. I loved that I didn’t have to lug a 337 page book in my, always too full carry on, when I flew home. 

I’d love it if publishers would get a little innovative, and put out some books that break into manageable sections. Easy to hold over your head in a hammock or a recliner, unlike one of James Michner’s or Stephen King’s 900 pagers. King got innovative in 1996 and published “The Green Mile” in sections, releasing a new 100 page pocket book every month for six months. He was writing it as he went along, not even knowing himself how it was going to end. For half a year, he wrote and then published. The first five sections were about 100 pages long, the last, 140 pages. What a great way to read a story. I recently re-read it, 28 years later, this time with the image and sound of Tom Hanks voice, who starred in the movie. What a delight. I was on a river cruise on the Rhine and stuck a section in my pocket to read whenever the tour guide overdid the blah, blah.

I’m a reader, hard and soft covers, new and used, Kindle books and once in a while an audio book. The best one of that ilk was, “Pontoon,” a novel of Lake Wobegon, read by the author, Garrison Keillor. What a treat. All well and good, but the section books are the most convenient to carry around. I think I’ll start buying cheap, used books and break them into sections I can roll up and carry in my back pocket. I can get away with doing that, because I’m an Old Coot, which allows me a lot of freedom to do my own thing. Like the Hippies from the generation I grew up in.

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