Of Politics, Sports and Stuff

They tell us that as we get older, our sight diminishes. Then why do I feel like I see so many more things than I did when I was a boy? The colors, the shadows, the souls of those I love and particularly those I don't. They tell us that as we get older, our sense of smell diminishes. Then why do I feel like I seem to enjoy the smells of so many more things than I did when I was a boy? The flowers, the honeysuckle and Cheryl's amazing meals cooking on the stove? They tell us that as we get older, our sense of taste diminishes. Then why do I feel like I seem to enjoy the taste of so many more things than I did when I was a boy? Tastes dramatic and slight, foods exotic and familiar. They tell us that as we get older, our hearing diminishes. Then why do I feel like I seem to enjoy the sounds of so many more things than I did when I was a boy? The giggling of children, the cutting of a skate blade on ice, the wind blowing through the trees and their leaves gently settling dow

Somehow, given what happened in Las Vegas Sunday night, it just doesn't seem right to post anything here that doesn't in some way speak to it. Events like that usually take a while to hit me fully. At first when I heard what happened, I had the usual thoughts of "Oh no, not again." And I watched maybe 10 minutes of coverage to get the overall sense of what happened, but then found myself annoyed that my favorite morning show - Morning Joe - had been taken over with this story. But then, as yesterday wore on, I found myself getting sadder and sadder, just past melancholy (sounds somewhat appropriately like a country music song title). It's been a bad month or so lately: - multiple massive hurricanes - an equally devastating earthquake - the sudden death of Ted, our good friend of 45ish years, his memorial service/celebration the day before the Las Vegas shooting - my seeming to too often upset people I love without my always understanding how or why or ce

I was talking with a young friend and co-worker today, let's call her Monica, because, well, you know, about us middle-aged guys giving advice to younger people. I was telling her that I've often thought about starting a website called www.aphorisms.com (Hey - still available for just $3495!), which would consist entirely of, well, aphorisms, gathered from anyone who wanted to submit a lesson learned or advice on various subjects that always seems to fit certain situations. Or maybe I should call it www. WhatYaWannaDoIs.com . That one seems available for nuthin! And in reply to my idea, Monica said, "But do you ever really learn from taking advice? Isn't it better to learn something on your own than to just take someone's advice?" I loved her observation so much, I told her I would make sure to add it to the website. (Dang - now I can't get the Magilla Gorilla theme song out of my head.)

Hugh Hefner died yesterday. I see where he was quoted in 1967 in Time magazine as saying:  ‘I’m living a grown-up version of a boy’s dream, turning life into a celebration.’ Me too, Hugh, me too.  In his case, he had everything to do with that. In my life, Cheryl and all our amazing kids and my friends and extended family are totally responsible.  A nd even though one can argue that he had way more than I ever did or will, I had the more important thing - a life filled with love and easy trust of the people around me.

A few weeks back, a 90+ year-old friend, let's call him Gerry, since that's his name, rose to speak in (Quaker) Meeting to say that he had read an obituary recently where it said that the deceased had gone to be with the Lord, leading Gerry to wonder why the Lord hadn't been with the fellow before he died too. I told Gerry that of all his messages I'd heard him share in Meeting over the past 60 years, that was my favorite. I have a similar question. Why, when someone dies, do we say that the person "...is no longer with us?" In some ways, my Mom and Dad are with me more now than they were when they were alive. And I suppose by some measure they are still alive too, if only in my heart.

I wonder sometimes if anyone literally knows the definition of the word literally.

I guess I first realized I was out of touch with the country's mainstream views back in the late 1960's when I was 12 years old and I realized that people who watched Hee Haw actually laughed at the show while I laughed at anyone who did. First ever segment here of Hee Haw (please don't tell me you laughed at any of it) As time goes by, I think I am getting even further out of the mainstream. For instance, on these topics, I don't think my view is the same as either the left or the right: Confederate statues - If I were a Southerner, I wouldn't be leading the fights to keep them up, I'd want to have them taken down from the embarrassment of what they mean. As a Northerner, I can see an argument for wanting them to stay up to show people exactly the kind of racist, subhuman mindset that thought owning other human beings for your own economic benefit was just or moral by any definition or rationalization. And maybe selfishly, I might want them to stay up

At a certain, age, losing weight makes one feel younger and look older. It's worth it, no matter what Fernando Lamas thinks. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J0RTD7250II

A facebook friend of mine, and a former high school big-time crush, let's called her Selden...since that's her name...recently posted this column on her page from Huffington Post... http://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/emma-watsons-boobs-prove-why-we-still-need-feminism_us_58b8bd55e4b02b8b584df9f4?ncid=hpinst00002 (Inserting gratuitous Emma Watson Vanity Fair pic here. Hey it's in the HuffPo story too!) ...and asked the question on FB: "Would love to hear thoughts from my women friends, young and old, on this article. Is baring your boobs consistent with feminism?" ...and the first response to her q was this: This is a really interesting question - I think I have sort of noticed two completely different strains of feminism: for simplicity's sake I'll call them American and European. European feminism is about women owning themselves completely, including their sexuality and the power that their sexuality, and other peoples' response to it

Why do we care if there is a God?  The more I think about a possible answer, the less I care if there is one.

I wonder how often we tell stories that are more fun to tell than they are to listen to? Our best friends are the ones who listen and laugh anyway. 

Somehow, an incredible 64,600 read my last post of 2016. (Yet in this blog's entire history, only  157,800 people have ever viewed any page of the entire blog.) I'm not sure why it was read 64,600 times, and I'm even less sure how it was that that many came across it, but seizing on such momentum in order to maximize my distinct and oh-so-valuable literary contributions to the world, I have made exactly one post in the 10 months since then, a post read by exactly 35 people. So back at it this week then, with what I hope will be a series of posts coming from notes I've taken, often after a beer or three that I've memo-ed to myself into my phone, usually while down on our pool patio late into the evening while amongst friends, that will hopefully still make sense when I read them again fully sober. If not, I'll post them anyway, in case anyone chooses to read them after they've had enough beverages that maybe makes them more understandable. More understand

News Item: "God Will ‘Take Care Of’ Climate Change If It Exists.” Republican candidate Rep. Tim Walberg told a constituent last week that God can solve the problem of climate change if the global phenomenon truly exists: "As a Christian, I believe that there is a creator in God who is much bigger than us. And I’m confident that, if there’s a real problem, he can take care of it.” ------ Makes me wonder if there are any religious fundamentalists who think that the increased visibility and acceptance of homosexuality is God's way of addressing world population overcrowding concerns. OK, maybe not worthy of my first post in 6 months, but I had to post something to break the logjam.