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Dream Works?

January 28, 2021 By admin

dreamscapeI’ve had a lot of “work” dreams and trying to make sense of them, I wondered whether it means I have unfinished business of some sort. I’m quite content with my retired life and do not want a job. So, what’s it all about, Alfie?

Dreams are so weird, and I don’t pretend to understand them. The work dreams are rarely good and usually replay the worst aspects of jobs I had during my career. My best guess is the dreams are a way for my mind to unravel the accumulated stress.

Yet there might be another take on it. When I mentioned the question about unfinished business to a friend, he said although I seemed quite content, he had to wonder if I was making the most of my life. Am I reaching my full potential? Perhaps that’s what the dreams are about.

We had a great exchange about what that means. In his view, it’s about living each year as if it’s your last … setting targets and doing more than what you’ve done before. I guess that’s what a lot of people are doing when they post their goals about reading 200 books before Easter.

That deal about year-over-year improvement is too jobbie for me. Stretch goals and all that. And I’m not sure the strategy was successful. In my workplace, we systematically weeded out steady performers who worked as a team in favor of individual superstars who fought over the last porkchop, making everyone miserable.

What if I don’t need to continuously improve myself? For the record, my friend is right … I am content! But here’s a radical thought. What if being content is actually what it means to reach my full potential? What if being alive is my greatest accomplishment? What if ordinary is good enough?

I’ve read a little about Taoism, sometimes known as Daoism, which is a Chinese philosophy that is very much about going with the flow. I love the idea that not reaching too far might be the essence of freedom.

While I applaud and respect those who drive themselves harder, there’s room for underachievers, too. If you are among those who resist excessive productivity, I hope you find pleasure in knowing you are not alone.

As for me, I am content to work below my means. It’s a sweet gig, actually.

Donna Pekar is an aging badass (for real) who lives in California and writes Retirement Confidential.

Filed Under: ESSAY

Let’s Pick

January 28, 2021 By admin

JamKazam app interfaceHow are you, Stranger?

No stranger than usual. How ‘bout you, Bud?

I’ll let you know when I’ve had a little more of this coffee. Honestly, I feel like I’ve aged a week since I saw you last.

Hey, it’s only been a week, but this is weird. Things have come to where you act like seeing my image on the laptop is the same as “seeing” me. Did you get a haircut?

I did. Jodi said I was looking more like a homeless person than an aging rock star. What are we doing today? Are we gonna play some tunes?

That’s the plan. First thing would be to check the gear and see what kind of readings we’re getting for latency. I’m showing you at five mili-seconds total for your audio interface.

Wow, that’s pretty good. You’re reading closer to ten, but still in the green. Are you having some weather over there in Santa Fe?

Snowed again last night. That might affect these crazy jitter readings. Should we both hit the “resync” button?

Good idea. Ahh, that’s better. Yeah, all your settings are in the green now. I was online yesterday jamming with a bass player in Michigan and we were getting about the same readings. He was probably a thousand miles from here, but we had a tight session. He’ll make somebody very happy in a cover band doing oldies. No real issues, but he’s not the one we want for this particular ensemble.

Okay, let’s play something together to warm up the guitars, and then I’d like to run over the new songs. Did you get my email with the revised lyrics?

Yeah, I printed them out last night. I think the lyrics are fine, but I do have some questions about where you want the harmony vocals.

I’m not sure about that yet. Let’s use the software to make a place holder recording this morning; we’ll be better able to decide about details of the arrangement after we hear what we did. Meanwhile, and I don’t know if you’d be up for this, but I thought it would be fun to get away from our material for a half hour play some Hank Williams tunes.

Yeah, like which ones?

Anything you’d like. Lost Highway, Lovesick Blues, Hey, Good Lookin’, I Saw The Light, Your Cheatin’ Heart. Any of those appeal to you?

Let’s do I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry. In the People’s Key of E flat.

All right then. You want me to kick it off?

Harpeth Rivers is a New Mexico transplant from all over who has written songs about isosceles triangles, played bass guitar in a band, and declared himself “Retro-eclectic.” His novel-in-progress is entitled Last Year.

Filed Under: FICTION

Reality Check

January 28, 2021 By admin

potato on sofa“We’ve hit rock bottom,” my wife Anna groaned. “Sitting on the couch watching other couch potatoes on television critiquing reality shows like we do, it’s proof positive we have no life.”

“When did we die?” I played along, but Anna frowned.

“Okay, we breathe, eat and do other things that mirror life but we’re just making a mockery of it. Pass the popcorn,” she groused.

I took a sour bite of reality chewing Anna’s words. I mulled over the touchstones we should’ve heeded as our world shrank: living vicariously through reality stars like the Kardashians, Saturday date nights becoming a toss-up between doing laundry or grocery shopping, the family barbecue three years ago when my father-in-law started making sense. Even the dog stopped chasing balls instead lolling on the couch with us barking at the canine stars of Pitbulls and Parolees.

“How did we fade away, Anna?” I sputtered but my wife, paying rapt attention to our new flat screen TV, silenced me with a finger that zipped both our lips.

Bookended by births and funerals, we first ran circles around our parents then our kids ran circles around us. We became chauffeurs and coaches. We spent Fourth of July on our front lawn gleefully watching our neighbor across the street light off illegal fireworks. Our aging parents sandwiched us as caregivers, and the death of the 9 to 5 job killed any free time and passion to live life on our terms. Ground to a powder, we burrow into the couch to escape reality by watching and parsing reality shows. And now we watch our proxies do it for us.

“Pass the popcorn, Anna,” I shrugged and slipped into my Snuggie.

Marc Litman is from Granada Hills, CA

Filed Under: FICTION

Memories

January 7, 2021 By admin

man losing memoryI want to discuss memory loss with you. For baby boomers, the fear of memory loss is really the fear of dementia. I’m not referring to the inability to recall names, places, or even what you ate for lunch. Wait, where was I?

Seriously, isn’t every boomer thinking that dementia is right around the corner when they can’t remember something they were told an hour ago? You can argue with me if you like, but I’m going to affirm that half the time my problem is with listening skills, not memory, but that’s a whole other story.

The good news is that exercise not only improves memory – it also decreases memory loss. Studies have shown that walking for as little as 2.5 hours per week can significantly improve memory.

Exercise increases the levels of brain chemicals, and that in turn encourages the growth of nerve cells. The more aerobic the exercise, the more successfully your brain ages. Soooo, time to get moving.

While on the subject of memory, I wanted to know why we can remember things in the most distant past but not how we spent the afternoon yesterday. The science indicates that once a memory is created it has to be stored somewhere. Sensory, short-term or long-term. I’m going to guess that short-term can only hold so much, while long-term is there for the long haul.

And I just remembered why we can’t remember when we were babies. Most of us, that is. I’d be willing to bet there are a few boomers out there who can remember getting a spoonfuls of Gerber Apricot Mixed Fruit, but they would have to be considered extremely rare. The rest of us at that age had brains that were not developed enough to bundle information into the complex neural patterns known as memories.

Maybe you will remember this the next time you and your friends and family are discussing memory loss. Or maybe not.

Jay Harrison is a writer and creative consultant at DesignConcept. His mystery novel, Head Above Water, is available on Amazon and Kindle. You can also visit his author page here.

Filed Under: ESSAY

Socks

January 7, 2021 By admin

I have a pair of yellow knee socks which have to be over 55 years old. I know this because I would never have worn such footwear with my Catholic Central High School green plaid skirt uniform. When in college at Russell Sage in the late 60’s and early 70’s, I was required to wear nylons like all proper young ladies. I wouldn’t wear yellow cotton stockings with my white nursing uniform. Therefore, I had to get them when I was in grammar school.

My yellow footwear recently developed holes in the heels. You ask the question “So what?” I obviously have gotten my money’s worth out of them. Or at least my father did because he must have paid for them. Well, these knee socks are old friends. They are certainly one of my oldest possessions. I use them all the time, unlike my Nancy Drew books which are probably even older and are housed in a box in the basement. I wear them to bed in the wintertime to keep my feet warm. (This doesn’t say much for my husband.)

The genius, Albert Einstein, hated socks and rarely wore them. He would even attend White House parties sockless. Einstein disliked socks because they were constantly getting holes. His socks were obviously not made by the same manufacturer as my yellow hoisery.

I am trying to decide what to do with the holes before they get much bigger. I once learned how to darn socks. But this was when I was in college and I have never darned a pair since. Should I just sew them up? You probably think I should throw them out.

The reason I am writing about such a mundane article of clothing is that these socks seem to be a metaphor for my life. Like them, I am getting old and I am beginning to fall apart. I have a lot of aches and pains, take nine different medications once or twice a day, get B12 shots monthly and, most significantly, had cancer twice. We are both falling apart.

What should I do with these old friends? Maybe, I will just keep them as they are in my sock drawer but then they would be constant reminders of our aging, lack of usefulness and pending demise.

What would you do? I am open to suggestions.

June Hannay Kosier is from Ressselaer, NY

Filed Under: ESSAY

Appreciation or Depreciation?

January 7, 2021 By admin

$100 dollar billsIt is morning and I am sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper having finished a bowl of cereal. My wife comes down after arising, showering and various other things. I take a good look at her and exclaim “You look like a million bucks”. She is appreciative

Time passes as I do things around the estate. We have lunch together. She has been to the grocery store and stood in line at Target after fighting an obvious welfare lady for the last bottle of Windex. I think she lost. I look at her and exclaim “You look like three quarters of a million bucks.” she smiles.

She did a chore or two and then napped. She came down about 3. I looked at her, hesitated and exclaimed “Girl; you look like a half a million bucks”. She looked at me not saying anything as she wasn’t quite awake.

She made us dinner after she had been to the gym for a workout designed for 30 year olds. She is more than twice that. I sat down at the table with her and proclaimed “You look like a quarter of a million bucks”. She smiled but added an icy glare.

About 8:30 after she had fallen asleep twice in her lazy girl while watching a rerun of the real housewives of Bagdad, she awoke and looked my way. I looked at her and said in a quiet humble voice “You look like $100,000”. She fell back in her chair and nodded off again.

Later we went upstairs to bed. She finally left the bathroom and jumped into bed wearing her combinations World War Two memorial night gown and hazmat suite. I looked at her and sheepishly said “You look like $25,000”. She snorted and rolled over.

I couldn’t sleep. I was trying to figure out if I had lost $975,000 that day.

Kenan Bresnan is from Indianola, Iowa

Filed Under: FICTION

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