Still Clickin

When our children were young, there were times that I would forget and kiss them with unshaven lips. When they would shout, “Daddy, stop that”, I would respond with one of our standard family lines, “Sometimes love hurts.”

As everyone in any family grows older, we can sometimes unknowingly hurt one another with our emotional whiskers. And as everyone in every family knows, holiday times are often the moments during which such whiskers can especially chafe. It seems like every other holiday movie is built around this theme. We just saw, “Nothing Like the Holidays”, and it certainly explores that theme.

Because of the pervasive atmosphere of good will and good cheer, the holiday season raises our expectation levels, and we all apply our highest levels of expectation to the members of our own families. But, if you want to, it is really easy to avoid the risk of those emotional whiskers by careful and thoughtful action. Specifically -

• If you see each other often enough during the year, misunderstandings don’t build and fester.
• The key to all healthy relationships, communication, generally resolves any issues before they build up.
• For those that are separated by geography, regular visits over Skype, the Internet video phone, can help bridge the separation and encourage further communication.
• Obviously, you have to commit yourself to work on any relationship, but particularly those within your own family. The emotional whiskers grow whenever family members are taken for granted.

With young children, the holidays are a natural time to celebrate them, their lives and aspirations. As these children grow, to age 20 or 60, that desire for celebration still exists. It began with the family and will always center itself there. Now is the season to steep yourself in that joy. It is where we learn the meaning and dimensions of the word Love, even if . . . “Sometimes love hurts”.

NB. Click below to make a comment. Even better, expand on the original article by going to wikiSenior and clicking on ‘edit’.

If you are delving into your genealogy, one of the treasure’s you can explore is the local lore of family memories. I wish I had done a much better job of that when I was younger. I could have learned a lot. Now, I’m part of that older generation, and its time for me to recapture memories of our family’s shared past. For example, remembering the first visits to my father’s family when I was young.

I never met his dad, my grandfather. He died nearly a decade before my birth. But I do remember many trips to see Grandma. My Dad would go more often, but the whole family went practically every summer.

I remember one trip during the early years of WWII. The five of us were packed into the old, black Dodge, and my Mother was worried that the car wouldn’t make it. But we cruised along up through the Pocono Mountains, and as we crested one hill, we could see the city of Wilkes-Barre spread out below us. It hugged the shore of the Susquehanna River

Grandma’s house was located at the top of a hill on a side street to a main shopping street. The houses lined the street, but all of the garages were situated on a separate alley behind the row of homes. They were probably first built for carriages, rather than cars, and sited to provide a bit of separation. Her house was surrounded by a wrought iron fence, and we could safely run around in the yard.

As you entered her front door, there was a pallor to the right. This room had the nice furniture and lace curtains, and you weren’t allowed to play in there. Walking back further into the house, there was a dining room on the right and a big kitchen in the back. The heart of the kitchen was a big, cast iron stove. It was heated by coal, and every morning Grandma would get up stoke the fire and add more coal to heat it up again for the next day. Wilkes-Barre sat in the heart of the anthracite coal region, and many people in the family and the region worked for the mines. Everyone used coal.

The smells from the kitchen were wonderful, and Grandma fed us and fed us. Sometimes she would use funny words when she talked. My mother told us that she learned those words in the “old country”. When we asked what she meant, Grandma would laugh and tell us what the words meant in English.

One day, our cousins, Jeannie, Annie, and Carole came over to visit. Annie was near my age, and she was nice. We all had our picture taken with Grandma on the front porch.

Aunt Margaret and Uncle Pat lived with Grandma. Uncle Joe was much younger than my father, and he would go out and play ball with us in the yard. During our visit, we went to a park and played in the cool water of Bear Creek. Uncle Joe was with us, and he tried to teach me how to swim. When I hesitated, he threw me into the middle of the creek and told me that I had to “sink or swim”. I swam the doggy paddle back to shore, and he was enormously proud. I’ve always loved swimming ever since.

After dinner, we would read or listen to the radio. The men would sit around the dining room table, play cards, and drink some Stegmaier Beer. The Stegmaier Brewery was located down at the bottom of the hill, and you could often smell the pervasive aroma of the hops. When no one was looking, Uncle Joe gave me a small juice glass of Stegmaier Beer. I drank it all down, but my father yelled at him and said I was too young. Uncle Joe loved to get us into trouble.

After church on Sunday, we went out the back gate, across and down the alley to visit the O’Donnell’s. Patrick was Grandma’s brother. He, and his wife Mary and daughter Kathleen laughed a lot and told us stories. They were very nice to us and served us the most cold, delicious root beer. Patrick and Grandma talked a lot to each other using the funny words, and said that was the language they used when they were our age. Uncle Patrick had to leave after a while to tend to the pub that he owned.

The next day, my father brought me to see Uncle Patrick at his pub. The men sat and sipped their beer while I had more of that cold root beer. After that, my Dad and I walked a few blocks over to see the house where he grew up. It was a nice house, but not as big as where Grandma is now and not as close to Uncle Patrick.

We had a great time at Grandma’s, and I remember being so sorry that we couldn’t go the following year because our gasoline rationing sticker wouldn’t allow us enough gas to make it. But we did make it the next year and many, many more.

NB. Click below to make a comment. Even better, expand on the original article by going to wikiSenior and clicking on ‘edit’.

Lately, for an unrelated reason, I’ve had to visit a number of senior centers. Having never been to a senior center before, I had no idea what to expect. Would they act as a center for social services? Would they cater more to the frail than to the active? Would they be buzzing with social activities or quiet and staid? Would it be the type of place I could see myself ever becoming involved with?

The answer is - all of the above.

Although into my seventh decade, I still consider myself to be blessed with good health. Despite losing two teeth and gaining three scars last year, I still am a “second story man”, i.e. climbing the extension ladder, cleaning the gutters, and fixing the roof. In other words, “active”.

Would I want to become involved with a senior center? The answer is - it depends.

Like any social organization, it takes no more than five minutes to size up any particular senior center. In some, you felt the buzz as soon as you walked in the door.

At one center, bridge, ping-pong, book discussions, lectures and excursions were all in process at once. People were quite engaged. There was laughter and enthusiasm. The staff was welcoming and friendly. You not only felt that you could become involved, you hoped you could keep up.

Contrast that with another center where quiet pervaded the space. There were a number of people there, but only a few were even talking. Perhaps they were there for a mid-day meal. Possibly, this was the day that everyone else was off on an excursion. I do not know. I do know that the staff seemed quite defensive and ineffective. I do know that I would not want to return.

Ironically, these two centers were in located in similar demographics and less than five miles apart. Yet the difference was night and day. What that tells me is, if you are looking for a place to meet other seniors for activities and social interaction, shop around.

Like shoes, each of the different senior centers seemed to have their own style, comfort level, and purpose. I would shop until I located a place that fit mine - even if it meant another half-hour riding the bus.

Click below to make a comment. Even better, expand on the original article by going to wikiSenior and clicking on ‘edit’.

Isn’t funny how your perception of Time changes with age and across the generations.

When we’re young children, Time is defined by events. We become familiar with Bedtime, Mealtime, story Time, and now screen Time. Our Time is measured by activities or events, not hours or minutes. For the young, Time can seem endless when you are actively involved or forever when you are waiting for someone or something.

As young adults, the challenge is to achieve as much as possible within any given slot of Time. Thinking of and preparing for the next event can seem to be an unnecessary waste of Time that could be used for other things. Familiar drills, such as shopping or dinner, are dealt with on the fly and do not need any careful rumination. We would deal as things came along. We would pride ourselves on managing and maximizing Time. Waiting anywhere was a waste of Time. Just-in-Time was the standard objective. Frenetic was fun. You felt alive and in control.

Over the years, as the clock ticked into middle age, a few missed flights, a botched deadline, or a disappointed friend encouraged the addition of a Time cushion into our schedules. It became a habit to carry along something to read or a project to work on that made this cushion of Time more productive. In fact, sometimes that Time cushion could turn into the most productive Time of the week. Frenetic became passé. You felt more assured and in control.

Today, watching some of my older friends, I observe how concerned they are about Time. They seem to obsess about always wanting to be on-Time. They always allow a very generous amount of Time to prepare for or to arrive at any event. Living with fewer demands and far more abundant Time, it seems that people take longer and longer to do fewer and fewer things. Frenetic isn’t even in the lexicon.

It seems curious that older seniors always seem to be thinking of and preparing for the next event rather than enjoying the current moment of the day. For example, the minute lunch is over they are thinking about what we are going to do for dinner. Planning for the next event is always front and center stage.

Watching these different perceptions of Generational Time in play, and the inherent conflicts they can create at family gatherings and outings, I realize that I have an entirely different role to play in this ongoing human comedy called life. It is now my job to point out why there are different perceptions of a simple thing like Time. More often than not, my solution is humor . . . especially laughing at myself. After all, who wants to spent their Time being upset over different perspectives of Time.

Click below to add your comment. Even better, expand on the original article by going to wikiSenior and clicking on ‘edit’.

Unless their toes are cold, many people I know, including me, don’t like to wear shoes. They like to spread their toes and feel the earth . . . or the carpet. With our feet, we directly engage our surroundings.

But formalities, gravel, and cold temperatures often can force our toes into shoes. Whenever that occurs, I much prefer old shoes. My old shoes know my feet, and my feet know them. They have adapted, through thousands of steps, to the bumps and contours of my individual tootsies, and they no longer conform to the standardized last from which they first were formed. They are now entirely customized to these two feet.

Whenever worn, the feet recognize that these two shoes are not strangers. They have history together. That history once may have left the toes with some blisters and the shoes with some scrapes, but leather has stretched and calluses formed. These feet and shoes now know each other’s quirks. They have adapted and accepted. They really fit.

Old friends are like that. Old friends adapt to our personalities, and we to theirs. Any particular quirks of our personalities have rubbed against the quirks of theirs. Long ago, we both have adapted. We have learned and earned history with one another. We are familiar with their struggles. We have watched their children blossom as they have watched ours. We have and share history.

Recently, we once again experienced the gift of old friends. As new nor’westers, we were visited by some of our old nor’easter friends. We have know these folks for more than thirty years. We have shared successes and failures, the wonders of growing families, and the challenges of daily survival.

With these old friends, we had no need for “safe” conversations. We could freely thrash about with our latest thoughts on politics, religion, and family without any fear of boring or offending. We knew ahead of time that any possible faux pas was automatically accepted, forgiven, and enthusiastically disputed. We had learned to stretch and callus a long time ago. We simply “fit”.

Through the experience of moving to another ocean, we have had the experience of meeting many new friends. New friends can be interesting. The challenge of meeting new friends can be exciting. When meeting new friends, we not only have the opportunity to learn something about them, but also something new about ourselves.

But nothing can match the familiarity, comfort, and warmth of old friends. Like fine wines, old friends mellow and improve with age.

NB. Click below to make a comment. Even better, expand on the original article by going to wikiSenior and clicking on ‘edit’.

A couple of days ago, my friend, Ron, gave me a great gift. He showed me the way to the sea. Standing on the top of a bluff, we could look 150 feet straight down to see the waves lapping the shoreline. But without wings, those last 150 feet were intimidating. Ron said, “follow me.”

He stepped through a slight notch in the land, and a path opened to reveal a series of dips in the earth that acted like steps. These dips were well worn by others that had trod them before, and step-by-step we ventured down the side of the bluff. Climbing over a fallen tree that had been claimed by the wind, a set of train tracks and a rock wall, we found ourselves on the beach itself with the open sea before us. The sea did not disappoint.

Filling our lungs with the rich essence of low tide mixed with the clean scent of salt, I knew I had found my way home again. The sea has always been in my blood, which was leached from different European shorelines. Since my early years, I have always felt most at home with the sea - in it, on it, or under it.

Two days later, while walking along the beach, I encountered some old shipwrecks along the shoreline. It was then that I met Curt. He was warning me to stay off his property, which extended down the water’s edge - wherever the tide decided it would be that day. Curt’s family had always lived by the sea, and we started talking about the differences between the shores on the East Coast, where I grew up, and the West Coast, where Curt did.

I was relating to Curt how, on the East Coast, we would awake in the morning to the smashing sound of clam shells being dropped from above by the sea gulls, who would then have their feast. I was surprised that the same thing did not happen in the West. Curt revealed that it did happen when he was young, but now the clams have all but disappeared.

It was then I realized the biggest difference between the two coasts, i.e. railroads. Because the East Coast is generally irregular and flat, the railroads were located a few miles inland. That precious dancing line between land and sea, where nutrients and life thrive, has been bisected by the railroads on the West Coast. Faced with a continuous series of bluffs, the rails were built right along the shore. The nutrients are blocked, the clams are dying out, and even the orcas, much further up the food chain, are disappearing.

The sea is truly a gift, but like any living thing, it requires respect and nourishment. Ironically, someone could make the same observation about senior citizens.

NB. Click below to make a comment. Even better, expand on the original article by going to wikiSenior and clicking on ‘edit’.

We have all lived long enough to remember many historic events. My first was the bombing of Pearl Harbor. I remember standing by a shrub at the side of our house when I heard my Mother shout, “Oh no!” There have been many events since, VE-Day, VJ-Day, etc., when you remember what happened and exactly where you were and what you were doing at the time you heard.

This morning, I was sitting at the counter sipping coffee when for the first time in the history of our nation a black man was sworn in as our nation’s president. Looking at the throngs assembled and listening to the interviews on the Mall, the one common trait you detected was an immense sense of pride. America was standing tall. It was once again demonstrating that freedom was possible.

Traveling overseas, you repeatedly encounter very different cultures. . .The manager of our London Office believed his six year-old daughter’s life was over because she wasn’t admitted to a certain school. The Chinese people in Kuala Lumpur recognize that they must limit their access and aspirations. The Shiites in Bahrain realize that only the lower paying jobs are available to them.

Once, I was verbally assaulted by a potential client who observed that the stark repression in their country was no different than America’s was to its black people. They were just more forthright about it. I was stung by the truth in his statement, and I knew that my counter arguments lacked conviction.

Today, that changed. Today is a very historic day. Today, two hundred and thirty-three years after the signing of the Declaration of Independence, America has proved once again that freedom can ring out. This time for a black man.

Racial prejudice still does exist. As a nation, we still have a lot more work to do. But for race relations in this country, this is HUGE! I truly believe that people now will consciously shift their vision from the color of a person’s skin to the look in a person’s eye. Once we get that shift firmly in place, we can relegate racial issues to a footnote.

There is an excitement in this land today, because Americans realize they effected this change themselves. They are standing proudly together and enjoying this moment of history. Personally, I feel quite proud that, during the past seven decades of my life - especially during the past three - my country has managed to achieve this amazing progress. I feel privileged that I have lived to witness it.

Click below to make a comment. Or, if you would prefer to make an enhancement to the original article, please go to wikiSenior and click on edit.

Remember Rodney King? He was the unfortunate black man who ran afoul of the Los Angeles police. They irrationally beat him with night sticks and were videotaped in the process. It was a big news story at the time, and Mr. King got far more attention than he desired. But in the midst of all the media madness, he reasserted his human dignity by raising a poignant question. “Why can’t we all just get along?”

It has been nearly a couple of decades since that incident, but Mr. King’s question still remains relevant, especially during this season that is focused upon peace.

Human beings always seem to have a problem with too much harmony. Petty dictators, just like religious fundamentalists, operate under the proud delusion that their approach is the only valid one. Others consider violence a necessary means to assert or retain their sense of power. Still other lust after lands or riches that are not rightfully theirs.

As a consequence, we often don’t “just get along.”

As seniors, on a personal level, we have all lived long enough to experience the bite of betrayal. Harm inflicted by an unknown source can be disastrous. But harm inflicted by a relative, friend, or coworker can be devastating. It can continue to haunt a person years after the event.

Coping with betrayal doesn’t come naturally for any of us. But after sixty years of living, I learned that forgiveness is a special gift that you can give to yourself. I took that step with some resentment, but I did it because I knew it was the right thing to do. What shocked me, once I truly forgave, was how heavily that burden of betrayal had weighed upon me. Once I released it, I experienced a new sense of freedom that I hadn’t felt in years. It is one of the sweetest gifts I have ever received.

So, during this season of peace, I recommend the gift of forgiveness. You don’t have to go to the mall. It’s not going to make a dent your credit card bill. You don’t even have to wrap it. But I guarantee, you will treasure it. Peace on earth can start inside your own heart.

Click below to make a comment. Or, if you would prefer to make an enhancement to the original article, please go to wikiSenior and click on edit.

Having spent most of my working life in New York City, that melting pot of humanity, I was always used to recognizing other people’s celebrations. As the days became shorter and darker, it was delightful to encounter celebratory lights and smiles. The context that framed those smiles varied with their cultural backgrounds. For some it was Christmas, for others Hanukkah, for some Kwanzaa, for still others Hari Raya. (I’m sure there are other holidays, but these were celebrated by the people with whom I worked.) As a true New Yorker, however, you realized that it was your responsibility to get the date right and share greetings and best wishes for all the various holidays, by name.

Where did all that respect for diversity go? “Happy Holidays” just doesn’t cut it for me. It ignores diversity rather than celebrates it. It lacks style. Frankly, I find it just plain lazy!

Over the years, I certainly have made mistakes, wishing people best wishes for the wrong holiday. I’ve also been on the receiving end of such “mistakes”, but I’ve never taken offense. I don’t understand how you can be offended by someone wishing you well. They are trying to share their humanity and joy of celebration. How can anyone in their right mind be offended?

Thanksgiving and New Year’s Day lack this diversity. Because they are common celebrations, they pass more easily through the social consciousness. They are celebrations of common survival, that we still have both food and time. As a consequence, they are socially safer celebrations. The diversity of cultures and beliefs are not involved. You don’t have to be so socially sensitive. They take less “work”.

Trying to force the celebrations of diverse cultures and religions into the same “safe” mold, however, ignores their realities. To me, “Happy Holidays” doesn’t say that I’m trying to be sensitive. Instead, it says that I’m either too casual or too lazy to care.

So let us rejoice in the richness of our diversity. I send you best wishes. Merry Christmas! Happy Hanukkah! Joyous Kwanzaa! Selamat Hari Raya!

Click below to make a comment. Or, if you would prefer to make an enhancement to the original article, please go to wikiSenior and click on edit.

Connotations can certainly change. Once upon a time, the ‘Old Boy’s Club’ was used to refer to an exclusive insiders’ business/social network. Maybe it still does for younger members of society. But for more senior members, it has taken on an entirely new connotation.

From my observation, members of the fairer gender have dialog skill sets that far exceed their male counterparts. When we first moved across the country to unfamiliar terrain, I told my wife that I would be happy to accompany her on all sorts of outings. But I warned her that I would not be able to ‘chat’. I wasn’t refusing; I just wasn’t able. I realized the limitations of my skill set.

But now, I just read about some New Yorkers who have started their own ‘Old Boys Club. They meet for lunch on a regular basis, discuss nearly everything, and doggedly agree to disagree whenever necessary. As profiled in the NY Times article, this group of elderly gents are determined to stay active, socially engaged, aware of the latest, and entrenched in their own opinions. In other words, to continue to have fun.

This is a high social, low physical, impact activity that could benefit many retirees. But many guys would miss such an opportunity unless they were encouraged (or coerced?) to join. It takes one spark plug to make it happen. Maybe you, or I, should provide that spark for our own neighborhoods.

Click below to make a comment. If you would prefer to make an enhancement to the original article, please go to wikiSenior and click on edit.