Tag Archives: life

Memories

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The familiar route home, a path I’d traversed countless times, suddenly felt alien under the night’s dark canopy. As I navigated the shadowy road, a disorienting moment seized me—I was lost, despite knowing every curve and landmark. My speed dropped instinctively, and my eyes darted frantically across the landscape, searching for a recognizable silhouette or landmark. Seconds stretched like minutes until, mercifully, the terrain’s contours realigned in my mind, and recognition washed over me like a wave of relief. The sudden return of spatial awareness was profoundly comforting, a reminder of how our minds can momentarily disconnect from the most well-trodden paths.

As I approach my late seventies, the subtle signs of cognitive decline become increasingly apparent. Memory lapses emerge more frequently, compelling me to develop small strategies to navigate daily challenges. I find myself repeating tasks, correcting initial missteps, and occasionally experiencing moments of genuine concern. These subtle shifts can be overwhelming, transforming even simple routines into complex navigations that test my patience and resilience.

More than twenty years ago, despite having a sharp memory, I still occasionally forgot things. After breaking my ankle and relying on crutches, I quickly learned that navigating stairs was a challenging skill. Like many others who have used crutches, I initially went to great lengths to avoid stairs finding alternative routes whenever possible.

The familiar workplace demanded occasional navigation of stairs, a challenge I had grown accustomed to. On this particular day, I maneuvered through the doorway and ascended the steps with practiced precision. Reaching the center of the room, I paused, surveying my surroundings with a contemplative gaze. Supported by my crutches, I lingered in that moment of uncertainty, acutely aware that my memory had once again abandoned me, leaving me adrift in a sea of forgotten intentions.

As I glanced back at the steeps I had just ascended, a weary realization washed over me. My imminent return would inevitably resurrect the very reasons that initially compelled me to this challenging journey. The prospect of climbing these unforgiving steps twice, rather than the single arduous climb I had hoped for, loomed before me like an unavoidable burden.

As I retraced my steps, the purpose of my initial climb suddenly crystallized in my mind. Purposefully, I ascended the stairs once more, this time with clarity. After swiftly completing my intended task, I descended back to the room where I had started, mission accomplished.

That day, I proved something very important. For the remaining time I was on crutches, I never again forgot why I went from one room to another. That is to say, given the proper encouragement, a person can train their brain. I know I did. When something is important enough, one can keep from forgetting it.

Well, I suppose that’s not entirely true. For some reason, I can’t remember the filter size for my furnace. Every time I go to the store and get to where the filters are, I am reminded that I don’t know the size and I never wrote it down. Now my furnace needs two filters badly, and it keeps getting colder outside.

I guess I will have to make a special trip… In the cold.

Honesty & Courage

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As a Marine, I’ve seen leadership from both sides, though more as a follower. Nonetheless, one thing driven into our minds almost day one is that even a private can find himself as a leader. And so we are taught leadership from the beginning. Certainly when I started, I never figured I would be a leader.

They gave us a long list of things a leader needs, and it all seemed logical to me. However, from experience as well as plain logic, honesty and courage seem most important. As for all the rest, they all somewhat hang on these two.

For instance, knowledge is highly important, but it can be acquired. Honesty and courage are things you either have or do not. They can be improved upon, but there must first be a good foundation. While tact can be practiced, it is useless without honesty.

I found it interesting that we considered good leaders by examining which traits they possessed. Two things came to mind as we went through the examples. I simply couldn’t think of any really good leaders who didn’t have courage and honesty.

It brings to mind the statement I heard: if you look behind you and no one is following, then you’re likely not a leader. I guess it says, ultimately, if you can’t get people to follow you, you likely aren’t much of a leader.

Still, the leader who has a willing following is mostly a better leader than those who are followed just because of their stripes or brass. I have noticed this to be true in civilian life as well.

This brings up the question: Do you prefer an honest or a dishonest leader? Would you rather your leader be courageous or a wimp? Is he a person who owns his mistakes or blames others?

What I’m saying is, would you choose a leader who is honest and courageous or one that fibs and is a wimp? I know what my choice would be.

By the way, I did say there were two things I noticed when considering good leaders. The second thing I noticed was that Jesus had all these characteristics. He also has quite a voluntary following.

Daily writing prompt
What makes a good leader?
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Me, Believe the CDC; Why?

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I do have a tendency to believe in patterns, you know. Like everything falls. Every morning, the sun does tend to rise, radiating light and heat on our little planet.

The CDC also has a pattern of telling untruths. To be sure, their lies tend to be as reliable as gravity or the sun. So, when they tell me I should take a flu shot, why should I believe them? When they say I should take a COVID shot, why should I be convinced?

Then too, the TV and radio stations are quick to distribute the falsehoods, as if they expect a reward like a young puppy being trained.

In a way, it reminds me of a well-organized retreat by an army unit. Each time one defensive position falls, they fall back to another. They say the vaccine prevents COVID. Then it doesn’t, and they retreat to “It decreases the spread.”

The only problem is that the spread is just as bad. So they retreat to saying, “It decreases the symptoms and increases survival chances.”

Truth is, you’ve been through it. You have seen the proclamations and have watched them retreat first from one and then the next. In the meantime, guess what? The pharmaceutical companies keep raking in tons of cash.

Then, after years of failure, they still refuse to back down. They continue to recommend the latest booster, still laying claim to its effectiveness.

As I said, I tend to believe patterns. The pattern here is that it does not work. It did not work for me, and there were serious side effects.

Actually, their pattern is not new. They did exactly the same thing with AIDS. At various levels of retreat, they said it was rare. They said it could not be contracted by intercourse. They said it could not be spread through blood or blood products. They said it could not be spread by sweat or saliva. Yeah. They lied back then too.

IT’S A PATTERN! It’s the kind of pattern I have a tendency to believe. So, I hope you’ll pardon me if I don’t believe CDC ever again.

The Methuselah Question

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In the annals of an extraordinary life, a man’s journey spanned an astonishing nine centuries. While many might gloss over such a remarkable narrative, I’ve found myself deeply contemplating its profound implications. This extraordinary longevity presents a complex tapestry of challenges and opportunities, inviting deeper reflection on the human experience.

Imagine encountering a narrative that stretches the boundaries of human existence, revealing the possibility of a lifespan spanning nearly a millennium. The prospect of experiencing ten complete lifetimes within a single journey is both exhilarating and mind-bending, offering a glimpse into a realm of existence far beyond our current comprehension.

While technology offers clear advantages, we often neglect its potential pitfalls. Let’s first explore the notable benefits before examining the broader implications.

Envision a life spanning centuries, where time becomes an ally in mastering intricate skills. With such an extended existence, even the most mundane tasks like driving a nail straight would become second nature. Skilled artisans could elevate craftsmanship to unprecedented levels, constructing architectural marvels with unparalleled precision and artistry. The vast expanse of time might allow for intellectual pursuits once deemed impossible, such as committing entire literary canons to memory. However, this prolonged existence would also introduce fierce competition, transforming career aspirations into generational marathons. Imagine the challenge of becoming a quarterback when competitors have centuries of practice and refinement, making the path to success an arduous and potentially insurmountable journey.

The specter of lifelong impairment looms larger when contemplating extended longevity. A mere eight decades of existence pales in comparison to centuries of potential mobility constraints. Imagine being tethered to a wheelchair for seven centuries, where temporary setbacks transform into profound, enduring challenges.

As I near the twilight of my years, I ponder the challenges faced by ancient figures like Methuselah, wondering about the physical trials and endurance that accompanied such a remarkably long life.

As I near the end of my eighth decade, a tapestry of memories unfurls before me—some cherished, others weighted with the quiet ache of roads not taken. Each passing day brings unexpected echoes of past choices, casting long shadows of reflection and regret.

Memories weigh heavily, like ancient stones carried through decades. What haunting fragments did Methuselah accumulate across his impossibly long life? I reflect on my own journey, the memories that slip away unnoticed, while the ones that torment persist with stubborn clarity. Time becomes a selective archivist, preserving my pain and obscuring my peace.

I’ve heard how hypnotists help people remember. I wonder if they can help me forget.

Daily writing prompt
What are your thoughts on the concept of living a very long life?
View all responses

But What’s It For?

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Years ago, I bought one of those TI calculators that does everything. Many might not remember them, but it had a card reader and was really slick. I really used it a lot. I even wrote about a dozen programs that, at the time, were pretty useful.

It came with several magnetic strips that allowed it to do a lot of things I didn’t understand. I suspect if I had a math degree, it would make a lot of sense to me. But, I suppose it was like I was a kid set loose in a toy store and I hadn’t a clue as to how to play.

Well, I guess that’s not so, but I can’t come up with a better analogy. For instance, let me explain this one card. I loaded it and followed the instructions. Before I knew it, I was finding integrals—and I didn’t even know what an integral was.

I knew I had figured out something useful. I just had no idea what it was useful for. I mean, someone went through a lot of effort to write that little program. So it must have been something important to someone.

I launched a two-part mission. Firstly, I was determined to find out what an integral is. I actually succeeded at that, though it wasn’t so easy. Secondly, I wanted to know how it would be useful. For this, I am a total failure.

Having worked around computers for much of my life, I became familiar with some people who had math degrees. That’s right. They were very familiar with exactly what an integral is. However, when I asked them what an integral is useful for, you would think I was prying to find some important national secret.

Okay. Another bad analogy, but I am sure you understand my point. Apparently, not everyone knows what an integral is useful for. Moreover, those who do know aren’t talking, at least not with me.

Who knows? Maybe, if I could find out how to use integrals, I might have become a millionaire. I mean, I had a machine that could calculate them by just pushing a few of the right buttons. However, I lost out. Alas, I was denied the millions because I could never figure out what they were for.

Just off hand, anyone out there need some integrals. I can sell you some, cheap.

Milkshakes & Memory

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It had been ages since my wife and I indulged in a milkshake, a simple pleasure we’d long forgotten. After running an errand at the local pharmacy, we spontaneously decided to stop by McDonald’s. The moment the creamy, cold beverage touched our lips, nostalgia washed over us. The familiar, sweet taste transported us back to carefree moments of our past. My wife, savoring every last drop, continued to draw from her straw long after the liquid had disappeared, her contentment evident in her lingering smile.

During my freshman year of high school, I often relied on milkshakes as a quick meal replacement. These creamy beverages provided a satisfying blend of calories and temporary fullness, perfectly suited to my slender teenage metabolism. At a lean 130 pounds, I could indulge in multiple milkshakes without concern for immediate dietary consequences.

During my time in Da Nang, an unexpected craving haunted me: milkshakes. The mess hall had spoiled us with exceptional cuisine—diverse, well-prepared meals that defied the challenging circumstances. Yet, amid the culinary abundance, milkshakes remained conspicuously absent from the menu, leaving a sweet void in my dining experience.

During my R&R in Sydney, I embarked on a personal mission to savor a milkshake each day of my six-day stay. However, my culinary expectations quickly deflated when I discovered the local interpretation of a milkshake dramatically differed from my own. The beverages served were more foam than substance, with an airy composition that seemed to be at least 70% empty space, leaving me utterly underwhelmed and craving the rich, substantial milkshakes I knew from home.

Upon my return to the United States, two vivid memories stand out: savoring a creamy milkshake and enjoying a slice of pizza, though not in a single sitting. Curiously, the details of my actual arrival remain a blur. I can distinctly recall boarding the initial flight, spending a memorable week exploring Okinawa, and then embarking on the return journey. Yet, the specifics of landing on American soil—including the location—have completely escaped my recollection. The peculiarity of forgetting such a significant moment puzzles me, leaving me to wonder how one can simply lose track of such a pivotal experience.

So many little things I remember as if it were yesterday. My return from Vietnam is completely blurry. I sit here pondering, just how can this be?

Something a Little Different, Please?

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As the evening radio crackled with another traffic report, I caught the familiar refrain of a roadway collision: “Accident on Goodman Road and Interstate-55.” The precise location blurred in my mind—was it at the intersection or along the highway? Such announcements have become so routine that they barely register as noteworthy anymore, a sobering reflection on road safety and daily commuter risks.

I rarely comment on local issues, but the situation at this interchange has become unbearable. The frequency of daily accidents is alarming, with collisions occurring with such regularity that it seems this might be the most dangerous intersection in Mississippi. The consistent pattern of crashes demands immediate attention and intervention from local transportation authorities.

At Interstate 55’s junction near Goodman Road, the highway configuration is notable. Southbound traffic flows through three lanes, with three lanes concluding at or adjacent to the Goodman Road overpass. The northbound direction features six expansive lanes, providing substantial capacity for travelers moving in that direction.

The Goodman Road bridge spans seven lanes, with one dedicated to eastbound left-turning vehicles, somewhat facilitating smooth traffic flow and efficient transportation. Much of the traffic turns north towards the hospital or the Lowes store. To help, the one lane splits into two.

The intersection’s complexity stems from its proximity to multiple major destinations. Surrounding the junction are two shopping centers to the north and another sizeable retail complex to the southeast, with a large hospital positioned to the northeast. These locations generate significant traffic congestion. Drivers navigate multiple turning patterns: some aim to head south on Highway 55, others seek to access Walmart via Goodman Road eastbound. Conversely, northbound travelers on 55 may need to transition to Goodman Road’s eastern route, while those bound for the hospital must strategically cross multiple lanes to make a timely left turn.

The interchange’s intricate design forces drivers to navigate multiple lane crossings, often catching unfamiliar motorists off guard. Many travelers may not anticipate the complexity of the roadway ahead, potentially leading to confusion and increased risk of traffic disruptions.

The complexity of daily travel is heightened by the necessity of crossing the interstate, a challenge that impacts numerous motorists. My personal experience illustrates this inconvenience: my medical provider is located on the opposite side of the highway, and nearly every destination requires navigating this infrastructural barrier. I am sure I am far from the only one with this problem.

The daily commute transforms into a nightmare as rush hour descends. What begins as a manageable journey quickly deteriorates into a traffic standstill. By late afternoon, Interstate 55’s three southbound exit lanes funneling onto Goodman Road become a sea of motionless vehicles. Most evenings, the interchange resembles a parking lot, trapping drivers in an endless, frustrating gridlock. Vehicles on the bridge remain stranded, unable to exit due to massive backups extending in both directions. By 5 PM, the southbound exit lanes stretch into a serpentine line of brake lights, extending one to two miles, testing even the most patient drivers’ resolve.

A persistent issue has been unfolding before my eyes, and I find myself questioning whether others recognize its significance. The extent of apparent indifference is startling, leading me to suspect this neglect might be deliberate. As the familiar saying goes, “out of sight, out of mind” seems to be the prevailing attitude. Despite the problem’s escalating nature, there appears to be a troubling absence of proposed solutions or meaningful discourse addressing its underlying complexities.

My words might seem futile, but if shared, they could gradually propel our solution forward, much like the slow crawl of rush-hour traffic inching toward its destination.

I Thought It Was a Little Mistake

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I forgot to tell the doctor that my wife was low on two of her medications. No big deal. We went back today, and he wrote the prescriptions for them. We then headed to Walgreens. As I was entering the store, I saw a well-displayed sign: their pharmacy was closed.

There ought to be a linguistic term for this peculiar incongruity—something akin to an oxymoron, but manifested through actions rather than language. Consider the irony: a pharmacy store chain store without a pharmacy seems as absurd as a McDonald’s with no burger inventory. The dissonance is palpable, a logical disconnect between expectation and reality.

I glanced down at my watch, a sudden urgency washing over me. While numerous Walgreens dotted the local landscape, only one remained open around the clock. Given her critical medication shortage, I knew I couldn’t risk waiting. The catch? This particular pharmacy was located in Memphis—a city I habitually steered clear of—yet tonight, it seemed to be our sole lifeline.

We embarked on our journey, my apprehension stemming not just from navigating Whitehaven, the Memphis neighborhood notorious for its frequent media appearances, but also from the anticipation of a prolonged wait at the sole open pharmacy—a scenario all too familiar from past experiences.

Navigating the congested highway, I felt the weight of my earlier error intensifying with each passing moment. The surrounding vehicles seemed poised to exploit my vulnerability, their drivers laser-focused on potential opportunities to alter my trajectory. In this unforgiving urban landscape, lane discipline had become a forgotten art, with each motorist operating as if turn signals and careful observation were mere suggestions rather than essential safety protocols.

My trip to the store was uneventful, a fact for which I am grateful. The wait time passed quickly, and during our browsing, one detail stood out dramatically: the heightened security measures. Compared to my usual Walgreens, this store seemed to take precautions more seriously, with numerous items securely locked away. Despite being less than 10 miles from the store I usually visit and crossing a state line, the difference in security protocols were striking, suggesting they might experience more significant theft challenges than my familiar shopping environment.

On the positive side, the folks at the store seemed friendlier and more professional than where I usually visit. Didn’t expect that.

Answer: Because We Make Mistakes.

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Question: Why do they put erasers on pencils?

It’s true, though I must admit, I didn’t think of it. However, you will have to go far and wide to find a person more mistakes prone as I am. For the most part, the mistakes can be eradicated. As with the eraser, the error can be figuratively and easily rubbed out.

Life’s challenges aren’t always simple to overcome. Some wounds, both physical and emotional, leave lasting marks that we carry with us. Forgiveness might come, but the consequences of our actions or accidents can persist. My own journey with a severely damaged ankle serves as a testament to this reality. Despite an orthopedic surgeon’s meticulous hours of surgical intervention, the injury continues to haunt me. The persistent throbbing pain seems almost independent of the physical limb itself. When I sought a solution, the doctor’s stark response was chilling: surgical removal was an option, but the pain might well remain, a phantom reminder of past trauma. Some scars, it seems, transcend physical boundaries, etching themselves into our very existence.

Navigating life’s pivotal moments requires careful reflection, especially when facing choices with lasting consequences. Our decisions can echo through time, leaving indelible marks that no simple correction can erase. Like permanent ink on the canvas of our existence, some choices demand thoughtful consideration before we commit. Not all mistakes can be easily undone, and wisdom lies in pausing to truly understand the potential long-term impact of our actions.

In one respect, I have been fortunate. I have never directly taken part in the taking any human life. The thought that I might one day scares me. Yet one day, either by accident or in defense, it might happen. It might happen on the highway or in defense. As I contemplate such a remote possibility, I wonder how I might cope with it. This is especially true if it be an innocent child by accident.

Some people have no problem living with it. They take the lives of innocent unborn babies. Some doctors do this by the hundreds without hesitation and not an ounce of guilt.

Some women, in the name of freedom of choice, pay those doctors. I would say that they do it without a second thought. Their conscience becomes seared to a point they don’t care. How-some-ever, I suspect, sometimes, it might strike later in life. Disagree with me as you will, I have found God does have a way of calling things to our attention in ways and at times we least expect. And yes, it hurts more than the broken ankle. And it nags at you any time you’re awake.

Some mistakes leave permanent marks, etched into memory like scars that time cannot fade. The consequences of our actions linger, a constant reminder of choices made and paths taken. No amount of wishful thinking can erase the emotional weight we carry, a burden that becomes part of our very essence.

Our Phones!

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The subtle tremor against my sternum stirs me from slumber. Logically, the smartphone nestled in my breast pocket is the source of the disturbance. Yet, in the stillness of the night, I’m perplexed by the unexpected interruption, wondering who could be reaching out at this hour.

Groggily, I fumble for my phone, its screen a blurry mess of light and shadow. With heavy-lidded eyes, I swipe to answer the call, mumbling “Hello?” three times before a human voice briefly breaks through the static. Suddenly, the voice morphs into a robotic recording, draining away any hope of meaningful communication. Resigned, I disconnect the call and sink back into my pillow, sleep beckoning once more.

Unsolicited advertisements intrude on my personal space, flagrantly disregarding my privacy. Unlike traditional media where advertisers fund the platform, I bear the full cost of my communication device, yet receive no compensation for these unwelcome interruptions. The disparity is stark: television and radio ads are subsidized by marketing budgets, while my personal phone becomes an unpaid billboard for corporate messaging.

Frustrated by the constant barrage of unwanted calls, I long for a platform to reach millions and share a crucial message: ignore these intrusive telemarketing attempts. If consumers collectively refused to engage, these disruptive businesses would quickly disappear, allowing us all to reclaim our peace and quiet. By simply hanging up and refusing to participate, we could silence these persistent interruptions and restore tranquility to our daily lives. The one and only reason they continue to persist is that sometimes they succeed.

During the period from late October to early December, unsolicited marketing intensifies, particularly targeting seniors like myself who are Medicare-eligible. These advertisers seem to have access to demographic information, though their targeting isn’t always precise. In one instance, I received a call claiming to offer thousands of dollars from Tennessee, despite living in Mississippi. Such blatantly false claims reveal the desperation and disregard these marketers have for potential customers, using the pattern of lies in hopes of our business.

Some corporate sharks swim in boardrooms, armed with MBAs instead of machetes or guns, plotting to extract every last penny from our wallets with surgical precision and spreadsheet finesse. Their weapons? Slick marketing, fine print, and a smile that says, “Trust me, this is totally in your best interest.”

And… They use the phones we pay for to do it.