The Old Coot saves his hand. An Owego NY and environs article. 03/01/2023

 The Old Coot won’t shake on it.

By Merlin Lessler

 There are a lot of handshake bullies out there. You stick out your hand and find your fingers in a vice. The bully looks at you with one of those “gotcha” grins, and squeezes. You hear your knuckles crack, feel the joints buckle. You fight with everything you’ve got to hold back the tears.

 When he’s done crushing your hand, you don’t have enough strength to go through it again. Your hand needs a day to recover. So, you grin and bear it and put a note in your memory to be prepared the next time you run into him. It won’t work; the bully puts a picture of you holding back the tears in his memory. When you see him again and stick out your hand, ready for his maneuver, he doesn’t make a quick grab for your fingers, he ducks down and gives you a “friendly” punch in the gut, “Ha Ha, got cha again!” The only thing to do then, is to stomp down on his foot with everything you’ve got, and say, “Oops, sorry. I tripped.”

 This is why some guys don’t shake hands. Some younger guys hug, do a fist bump, a shoulder bump or a high five. Anything, to avoid getting trapped by a handshake bully. Old coots don’t do any of that stuff; it’s too complicated and we’re too uncoordinated – we’d miss the other guy’s fist in a fist bump and end up punching him in the upper arm – an attempt at a shoulder bump would find us staggering past the guy, headed for a spill  – a high five would end the same way and we don’t know how to hug. We step back, tip our hats or salute and say, “Howdy; good to see you Governor.” It makes us look like an idiot, but who cares? Handshake bullies don’t get us in their vice grip anymore.

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The Old Coot goes slow. A Courier and Pennysaver Article of 12/22/23

 The Old Coot moves in the slow lane.

By Merlin Lessler

 A guy was in line with me at the pharmacy the other day. His nose was red, puffy and a little crooked.  I asked him what did he do? Run into a door, and laughed, “Ha- ha.” He said, “That’s exactly what happened. It was an automatic door, I wasn’t paying attention and ran right smack into it. It opened too slow.” I immediately identified with his mishap. Automatic doors open too slow or too fast. And, even worse, they make you think that all doors will automatically open, and you bang into one that doesn’t.

 A slow opening, auto-door like the one he encountered, is a perfect example of why getting around gets trickier and trickier as you age. They are not as bad as revolving doors, which should have a warning posted on them saying, “No seniors allowed.” But back to the guy who had an encounter with a slow opening, automatic door. It’s an issue that can go either way. The opening speed is based on an architect’s assessment of how fast the people using it can walk. The designer has to pick between someone with a stride like Wilt the Stilt, or someone who creeps along with tiny baby steps, like Tim Conway, playing an old man on the Carol Burnett Show. The architect for this facility opted for a Tim Conway stride; the guy in the pharmacy met it with his face.  

 If you’re scratching your head and wondering why anyone would walk into one of these slow opening doors, you don’t understand old coots. Slow or fast, we aren’t paying attention; we’re fumbling in our wallets or pockets in a panic, to make sure we have our insurance cards and the list of questions we want to ask the doctor, or a shopping list when going to a grocery store. And, even though we checked to make sure we didn’t forget when we left the house, and when we got out of the car, we check yet again as we approach the door. We get distracted. I don’t know why I bother with the questions for the doctor. I always get the same answer, “You have to expect that at your age.”

 A week or so later, I was going to the store where the mushed face guy ran into the door.  I checked to see how the doors opened. They were slow, but perfectly timed for me. It made me realize how much my walking speed has decreased. I doubt I could beat Tim Conway in a foot race. At least my face is safe.

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The Old Coot keeps his knee. - An Owego NY article published on 02/15/2023

 The Old Coot explains the “knee” generation.

By Merlin Lessler

 The Baby Boomer Generation was designated as the “Me-Generation” by author Tom Wolfe in 1976. (Me, Me, Me - I want it all and I want it right now!) But, I think it would be more accurate to call it the “Knee Generation.” That’s the subject that infiltrates their conversations. My crowd, the old coot generation, have knee issues, but we’re not obsessed with them the way the knee generation is. Our knees creek, grown, snap, ache and “kill” every once in a while. We wait it out, hope it goes away, and use it to get sympathy.

 But, not the knee generation. They are experts on the joint between the femur and the tibia. They get technical – “What’s your problem?” someone will ask. “Is it the meniscus, the MCL, LCL, ACL?” That’s a lot of “alphabet” talk, the kind that sends me searching for my old anatomy textbook. Old coots simply say, “My knee hurts.”  

 I think the me-crowd, over reacts to their knee condition. They get Symptom Disease. It’s a condition that usually affects medical students. When they study heart disease they think the next twitch in their chest is a heart attack. The next headache is a brain tumor. Every mole is skin cancer. The more they study, the sicker they get. We all suffer from symptom disease to a degree. The pharmaceutical industry exploits that susceptibility, and flood the airways with symptoms that they can cure. Just buy their magic pill. They have us right where they want us, our wallets too! So much so, that we hardly pay attention to the possible side effects.

 If you discuss your knee ache with a Knee Generation person., they will ask about your meniscus, your medial and anterior collateral ligaments. That’s when you need to get up and leave! If you don’t, they’ll convince you that surgery is the answer. Sure, some people have an issue so bad it requires knee surgery or replacement, usually after years of chronic pain. But, many others get caught up in the science, fall victim to Symptom Disease.” Knee surgery has become a status symbol. It introduces a whole new line of conversation that starts with, "Who did yours?”

 The knee is a marvelous, flexible joint, but it gets mad when we mistreat it. And, it lets us know. Old coots know this better than anyone. We don’t know if it’s because of the ACL, MCL or another of the knee structures. We do know how to use it to get out of unpleasant tasks: shopping, weeding, art shows, operas. It doesn’t seem to hurt when we go to a car show or wander around the golf course. Use it or lose it, is our motto. Not the knee, the excuse!

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Creases in jeans bothers the Old Coot (an article published on 02/08/2023)

 The Old Coot pans creases in jeans.

By Merlin Lessler

 I come from the “crease” generation. It’s a component of the “steam iron” era. Our pants had creases down the front. In my case, because my mother pressed them in with her steam iron.  Some guys did their own; when I tried it I ended up with a double crease or a crease where it didn’t belong. Mothers ironed everything back then, even sheets, pillow cases, handkerchiefs and underwear.

 We wore khaki pants to school. On cold winter days, we wore corduroy or wool pants. All, had a crease down the center of the leg.  You couldn’t wear jeans to school back then. That’s what you wore when you got home and changed out of your school clothes. 

 So, what the big deal? Pants still come with creases. BUT NOT JEANS! And, that’s what I have a problem with. When I see one of my kind (an old coot) wearing a pair of Levi’s with a crease, it hits me like fingernails scratching down a blackboard. Which, incidentally, no longer decorate classroom walls. That’s too bad. Kids miss out on a lot. – “Go to the board & finish the math problem” – “Go to the board and write I will not talk in class, 100 times – “Please go to the board and erase todays lessons” (That one was a privilege). “Tomorrow’s assignments are on the board; write them down in your assignment book.”

 We lived and learned in a blackboard world, sitting in wooden desks with ink wells, using ink pens that we dipped in the ink – ballpoint pens didn’t exist back then, neither did white-out, to cover up mistakes; we used an abrasive ink-easer to fix errors. If we were not careful, the eraser would tear the paper and leave a hole. I used the “cross-out” method. No holes in my paper, just a messy bunch of words crossed out. It looked a lot like documents that government officials redact before releasing to the public.

Sorry about that, I got distracted, wandered into the past. You have to expect that of an old coot. Now, back to my original thought on “creases” and those guys who grew up in my world and walk around in Levi’s with creases down the legs. They make the rest of us old guys look bad. Out of touch! The whole purpose of denim jeans, back then, and still today, is to wear something that is low maintenance, that only needs to be washed every month or so AND DOESN”T NEED IRONING! Some Levi, aficionados believe they never should be washed; it’s enough that they get a bath when we use them to dry our hands, or sit on a wet bench. My friend John presses his Levi’s with a steam iron set on high. I give him a pass on the creases because he’s Fonz (from Happy Days), to me. He snaps his fingers to start his truck, Harley and Jeep. When he next sees me, he’ll probably snap his fingers, causing my coffee spill all over my shirt. Oh well, it’s worth it! 

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The Old Coot can't open anything - an Old Coot article published on 02/01/2023 (in New York State)

 The Old Coot is helpless!

By Merlin Lessler 

 I can’t open anything! I tried to get into a box of Cheerios the other day. I unflapped the cardboard top. No problem. Then came the plasticized wax paper bag, heat-sealed at the top and bottom. If you grip it on opposite sides you are supposed to be able to pop it open with a quick tug, and hope you don’t spill the contents all over the kitchen. My grip wasn’t up to the task. I had to get a pair of scissors to get at those round toasted oats. I dumped them in a bowl and reached for the milk. It was in one of those waxed, cardboard-ish containers, the kind that’s folded and sealed at the top and has an arrow pointing to where you should open it. I wasn’t paying attention and opened it on the wrong side, forming a jagged spout. The milk came out in all directions. It wouldn’t have made a difference if I’d opened it correctly anyhow. Half the time the designated end has so much stick-um on it that it comes out just as jagged as when you open the wrong end.

 But, it’s not just cereal boxes and milk cartons that give me trouble; it’s everything: potato chips, pickles, peanut butter, toys, condiment packets, little creamers, on and on and on. Overzealous bureaucrats in Washington foisted childproof bottles on us forty years ago following the Tylenol scare, where seven people died after ingesting cyanide laced Tylenol capsules. Prior to that, old coots with arthritic tinged fingers were capable of opening an aspirin bottle. They could gobble down a couple of pills and keep their lumbago at bay. Not long after, it was decided that parents weren’t capable of keeping medicine away from their kids and criminals chose to tamper with commercial products.

 Tamperproof packaging is on my case for a whole slew of products. Today I sat with a bag of Snickers in front of me, trying to appease a sweet tooth attack. I couldn’t find the scissors. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich might have gotten me over the hump, but the peanut butter jar in our cupboard hasn’t been opened yet. I know I can unscrew the top, but I won’t be able to pull off the disc that’s glued to the rim; the tab is too small to get a good grip on it.

 I’m in trouble! A “package challenged” old coot. It’s just a matter of time before I’ll have to hire a professional opener to come by every few days, to untwist, unseal, uncap, or otherwise open things for me. Either that, or I’ll be pushing a shopping cart full of unopened food products around town with a sign on my back that says, “Will work for food. Help me open it!”

The Old Coot wants out! An article published on 01/25/2023

 The Old Coot wants out!

By Merlin Lessler

 “Outside!” Was my favorite place when I was a kid. My generation wanted “out” – rain or shine, hot or cold. My favorite sound was that of the screen door slamming shut behind me as I ran out the back door. I usually headed to a swing, made from clothesline and scrap lumber that hung from a tree at the edge of our yard. Beyond it was a woodlot next to an abandoned, overgrown farm field. The rusted hulk of an old farm truck was in a thicket, a few feet beyond, the swing. It had a bench seat and a steering wheel, a perfect venue for a young kid to play in. I put a lot of mileage on that baby, “driving” all around town (in my mind). A small pond sat a few yards into the field. It was where kids in the neighborhood scooped out clumps of frog eggs and watch them turn into tadpoles in jars on their dressers. When the legs began to appear, they returned the tadpoles to the “watering hole,” as we called it, when playing Cowboys & Indians in the field.

 My friend Woody lived one block from me. We started trekking back and forth through neighbor’s yards to each other’s houses when we were four years old. Our mothers were not concerned for our safety; we traveled around the neighborhood with my dog Topper and Meg, a beautiful Irish Setter that lived up the street from Woody.

 The urge to be outside grew stronger as we grew older. It was an endless playland out there, providing a place for ball games, hut building, hot rod riding, biking, cowboy wars with cap guns and BB guns, sword fights to defend the castle, tree climbing, roller skating and exploring the mountain that rose above our neighborhood. We hiked up the mountain with peanut butter & jelly sandwiches packed in army surplus knapsacks, with metallic tinged milk carried in war surplus, metal canteens.

 As soon as supper was over all the kids in the neighborhood started campaigning to get back outside. We all had the same curfew, “Come home when the street lights come on.” Sometimes we gathered on “Junk Street” for a game of bat-ball. It was called Junk Street because it was full of junk – piles of left-over materials from houses going up in our neighborhood during those postwar days when housing was in short supply. We played in those houses as they went up, and “borrowed” some of the material laying around to build our tree huts with. But, only from the scrap piles, (for the most part). Playing ball or playing Tarzan, swinging from the rafters in newly framed houses, it didn’t matter. All that mattered, was that we were outside.

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The Old Coot suffers with web program changes. Article # 1011, January 18, 2023

 The Old Coot dreads “new and improved!”

By Merlin Lessler

 Every time I turn around, one or another of the web pages or Apps I use is revamped. “Improved!” They claim. “Ruined,” in reality, for the users who figured out how to navigate the old program. Two of my banks did that to their web sites and Apps during the past year. They hid some of the functions I use in new sub-menus. Stuff that used to be in plain sight on the home page.  That was one problem, but they also rename some of them. The techies that design these things live on a different planet than old guys like me. I’m pretty tech-savvy, yet I get bamboozled by the new programs.

 Microsoft was the first company to change and mess up their programs; it affected millions of users – which is why you might hear me mumble under my breath, “I hate Bill Gates,” every time I encounter a change on a computer program. I don’t hate him, but I do hate how he made this process commonplace across the industry. He’s retired, but his legacy lives on. I used his “Word” program to write with since the 1980’s. Every time it changed, which was just about every year, it was radically different, and confusing. He really put it to the test when he made us push “Start” to stop the program. I know he was messing with our minds with that one. Over time they’ve changed the Word program so many times I’m a novice when I use it now. I can’t figure it out when it used to be so simple. It’s also become very bossy, correcting mistakes that aren’t really mistakes. Half the time I don’t notice it changed something, making me appear more stupid than usual.  

 I think the trouble is caused when the design teams use each other to test the new (and improved) programs. Even when they get users involved in the test process, they won’t allow old coots like me to participate. 

 The web-site revamp situation is even more exasperating when the change is caused because the company I was a customer of is bought out by another company. This happened to me last year; our local water company was bought out twice. I can’t even keep track of who I’m doing business with which makes it hard to  find them on the web and the old App doesn’t work at all. That’s a lot of crabbing, but I bet I’m not alone. It’s why you hear old coots like me say, “Leave things alone.” We hate change. (For good reason). The words I dread the most are, “our web page (or App) won’t be available this weekend so we can install a new and improved version.  Oh no; here we go again!

 Comments? Complaints? Send to mlessler7@gmail.com