Stunned! Aghast!

Those of us Players in the Last Quarter, those born -- say -- before 1950, have seen a great deal. It may well be that something very similar could be said of the Fourth Quarter players of any era. I, for one, was not sentient or aware for either World War and didn't have to live through the flu epidemic that left the dead lined up on the streets. It is my guess that every generation comes to feel that it has gone through new crises and technological changes more profound than those who came before and the Last Quarter folk are, I suppose, the witnesses that are most likely to sit about talking and musing on these great changes. ................... Recently, I fascinated about my own busted delusions about how we had, in the words of Rogers and Hammerstein's Oklahoma, "gone about as fer as we could go." When the book publishers and newspapers began to fail ... when the world of photography just about left film whether in the still camera or the digitalization of theater projection .... when the typewriter is gone and the room size computer with its punch cards has been replaced by a book sized laptop and Dick Tracy watches are in everyone's pocket .... it's hard to maintain the illusion. ...................... All this having been said, living in the 24 hour news cycle is, indeed, mind boggling. The latest national mourning in the United States, the loss of life from another mega-storm (this one tornadic), the Lord knows how many little kids ... how many parents have joined the mourners of Columbine and Newtown and all the other man-made and natural disasters that take over the airways for something like a week and then "flies off like a dream." 50% of marriages end and 50% of those that remain suck and, if we doubt it, we note how many of our public figures are caught with ther "bousers untruckled" (to borrow from the Capital Steps and their wonderfully silly songs) ... or mouthing off simply for political gain. ........................ If I have a prayer -- independent of any political similarities or differences that I may have -- it's that the Presidential family that does, indeed, feel a bit like Camelot, not turn out to be like the Kennedy's of Camelot. There's something very restful and soothing for me in knowing that there's a family out there somewhere that seems intact with a whacked out looking pooch to keep them company. Especially with all the mourning I need to do for Colorado, Arizona, New York, Boston and, now, Oklahoma. ......................... Michelle! You and your family (your thoiughtful husband, the two very sweet looking kids, your ever-watchful Mom and Bo) mean more to many of us than you may imagine. Go, Girl, go!

G'night, John Boy!

Trying to Build in Compatibilities

My youngest child and I share a professional office ... we've even written some things, together. We often discuss professional matters and soimetimes discuss the nuances of the work we do with the visitors who visit this office. That was the situation on Tuesday. Actually, she and her brood (3 girls and a Greek Philosophy husband) had come over to help me get the cover off the pool. I had done all the preparations and removed a mesh cover that catches Winter's leaves and had bailed and pumped most of the filthy bilge that collects in the October to May of Philadelphia's colder months. The grand-kids are always somewhat excited at the pool coming back to life ... My preparations were adequate to the job and the cover came off with only 4 of us working ... a joint struggle against a common enemy ... a filthy piece of plastic and fiberglass weighing as much as a wild animal as one never gets the last couple of hundred pounds off the cover till after it's removed. ........................ My daughter and I then talked. It was a good talk about a struggling visitor. Was it more appropriate for her or me to support this person in their quest. At some point, our talk turned to an online discussion group to which I belong. I explained that they were fighting. She asked if I was involved. Not this time, I explained. "Wow! Does that mean there have been other fights?" Oh, yeah, I explained ... many and I was not infrequently characterized as troublesome and nasty. It's not easy to explain to a child that Papa is seen very differently by a group of colleagues ... differently than he may be seen by his own family. ............................. Got me thinking about the discussion group. I've mentioned these groups/listservs before in these AM Blog to whomever Last Quarter Players are listening. Most of the folk in these groups are also in the Fourth Quarter. They get angry ... they subgroup in a variety of ways and fight ... talk nasty to each other. Just the previous night there had been a flurry of epithets hurled at the moderator, a younger woman whom I experience as snarky ... but maybe that's me. That we don't really like each other seems obvious. A somewhat older woman was being attacked on both personal issues and theoretical positions. These goes on a lot online ... there's a certain permissiveness to turn these discussions into combat exercises ... the take-no-prisoners variety. ..................... It was when my grandkids came into the office that I decided to write my resignation from membership in that group. It occurred to me that the Good Life in whatever Quarter benefits from a compatibility of its different parts. Like Jepthah returning home from his battles (Judges 12 or 13) and soldiers coming home from contemporary wars (my Dad came home to his brood of kids after WW-II) .... the gross clang-dissonance between different parts of our lives creates more noise than music. ................................. Still working on building those harmonies and compatibilities.

A Little Guilt

A little guilt never hurt anybody. I've heard just about every Mediterranean-origins person who has visited my office talk of their Mothers and "the guilt trip they laid on me." Whether it was designated Italian Guilt or Jewish Guilt or Greek Guilt or Catholic Guilt .... it was reported as something that interfered with their lives ... "Mom really did a trip on me!" ... or somesuch accusation. .................. I have already whined on for several years now on the healthful function of sadness .................. CAN this loony-toon think GUILT is healthy, too? ...................Reminds me of the song from Rogers and Hammerstein's Oklahoma. "I'd like to say a word for the cowboy. The road he treads is difficult and stony. He rides for days on end with just a pony for a friend. 'I sure am feelin' sorry for the pony'" .............. Well! I (verbally) beat up on a 90 year old cowboy Monday and Tuesday morning I was feeling guilt. "Good job, Mom!" I sent him an apology.  ......................... An old doctor, no longer with us ... Hans Loewald .... used to separate guilt from atonement. Guilt, as I recall his distinction made in 1978, was the feeling that I've done someone harm, wish I hadn't and wish there was some way to make them whole again. It is a mental experience that promotes goodwill in our societies, in spite of our human propensities to strike out and the fact that when we dance, we sometimes step on toes. ........................... Atonement, he thought on the other hand, was the attempt to offer up as sacrifice a part of ourselves in a magical attempt to restore the other person to wholeness by punishing ourselves. If I may: Cutting off our nose to save someone else's face. ..............................
What to say: Magic doesn't work ... well, at least not that magic. ......................... Years ago, the wife of a famous pair of writing physicians (Spurgeon English and Geral Pearson) spoke of her husband's and his "friend's" falling out. They had been, again, friends and coauthors and founders of a training institution. Then, something happened and they pretty much restricted their rare communications to grunts at professional meetings. Ellen English had few comments but in true maternal fashion opined: "And they should have known better." ...................... After writing about my retribution against the old Geezer, I did send that apology and then, as time permitted, visited a listserv to which I belong. The mean-spiritedness was in full bloom among people who were mostly Players in the Last Quarter, have extensive training in the illnesses of the human Soul, and shoulda/oughta/coulda known better. Geez! I wish there had been more of those guilt-trip Moms teaching their boys and girls who grew up during or shortly after the Great War that prompted Rogers and Hammerstein to pen "Oh, the farmers and the cowboys should be friends." A little guilt potentially goes a long way.

Confessions of an Aging Homicide

I don't like losing my cool! I like the idea of being "cool" but the Last Quarter has its sensitivities, too. Oh! The fact that the grandkids just seem naturally drawn to M, the Grannie? I got that. The matter of GuntherDog the Rescue Hound who would prefer a woman cat-burgler to his loving and Dear Old Dad? I can live with that. But when an Overtimer came after me at a meeting last night, even though it was just as I expected, I ripped through him like a table saw rips throug a 1x6. Mea Maxima Culpa .... What happened to "Take an Old Geezer to Lunch" and all that. Ah!  ..................................... He's an aging physician and his web-presence says he has 67 years of experience and I don't think that means since he began loading his diaper. Maybe he started, again. No. 67 + years to finish K thru Med School and you have maybe no more than 90 years. He musta been a smart little kid and, truth be told, I like him ......................Oh! And  I am averse to killing people but not opposed to reveling in the thought. ..........................  ............................. I admit it. I'm becoming protective of some of the ideas I've written about. You may get it: the Last Quarter is serious. You don't get to go back to the Locker Room and redesign plays. So that, for instance, what you've done (in my case thought and written and played out) is generally not repeatable. M and I married in 1965 ... no encore performance for that. And the kids? Kookla, Fran and Ollie? Too late to return them. Even those who support second trimester abortions would look askance at getting rid of a 47 year old. ......................................... But, apparently, when someone uses the argument: "You came to different conclusions than I and my colleagues did, so you're wrong" and says it so that it almost sounds reasonable, Ole Howard draws his sword and heads off to the Battle of the Bulging Men. ................................ Oh! I feel a little better. This is the first time I've used these Bloggy Blathers as a confessional: Pater Noster qui est in Caelum ... Avinu she'ba'Shamayim .... Our Father who art in Heaven ... Avuha di'bi'Shmaya .... I have sinned. I struck out (even if not gratuitously, my Lord) against an Old Man because of my pride and -- dammit -- because of  his mental sloth! ............................... THINK I'LL HIT HIM, AGAIN!
.............................................................
I do feel better, now! I needed that!

Psalms and Other Metaphors

I find, among my visitors to my home and to my office, a wide variety of levels of acceptance of each person's idiosyncratic Self. I have little doubt that it's good to be open to others' views of us ... The Good, the Bad and 'the Oh, Boy, that part of you is UG-LY.' I got that part but struggle with figuring out how much of a part is played by an-Other's Critical Eye or even an Envious One.  "why do you associate so often to Biblical themes?" ..... "why do you like being silly, cheeky and even occasionally distateful?"  .... People's "why's" about us and their criticisms. .....................................................................................................................................................
I suppose it came to lying in bed in the midst of an arrhythmia where my heart rate was bouncing about 3 times it usual resting heart rate. I remembered Psalm 90, I think it is. "The days of their lives (literally years) are 70; and if they be particularly strong 80." There you go with my Quarters ... 20-40-60-80 with a goodly number of people not strong enough/lucky enough to finish the Fourth Quarter. ...........................................................................................................................................
Then there were images of tonight. Last month, a reading group to which I belong was discussing some work on kids and I had to pee. While I was gone, the other Old Geezers voted to discuss my 6th chapter on a book from 15 years ago. It was not in line with the general thinking of the group and i suppose, instead of being honored, i was committed to keeping down my liquid intake during these meetings. Do I need to really be excoriated again for presenting my views on how people become socialized to the joys and pains of living in communities of mutual interest and concern? ........................................................................................................................... Isn't it enough? Who we are, that is? Maybe one of the benefits (Lord knows ... you don't get dental!) of Playing in the Fourth Quarter is not caring asmuch perhaps. ......................................... I, Howard, have a metaphor that comes from my Biblical training from a half a century ago. I, Howard have views about the world that have accrued over the same time. I, Howard don't know if they are RIGHT, these views and, in some sense, it's just too late to change the Game Plan. If that sounds depressing? I'd disagree with that, too. And, by the way, I like others who have their Game Plan pretty settled, as well, and don't mind the differences. ..................................................................
Any case, those who have a metaphor in Pop Culture get to understand the commercials on TV. Howard doesn't. He gets other stuff and with any luck will convert to a normal cardiac sinus rhythm before his first visitor arrives in 3 hours or so. ............................................................. Embrace you metaphor!

Ode to Modern Times

I never got to finish my story ... It wasn't a very good story, anyway, and one that we all of us Playing in the Last Quarter experience ... being prodded, poked and scoped by people typically much younger than us who are, themselves, Players in the Second and Third Quarters of life. My kids are Second and Third Quarter folk ... not a one of them on the bench. Each caught up in the Begats of Life and in getting somewhere. The anesthetist was in that group and still heard very well. Due to complications with my arrhythmias, I explained that I thought it best that the up periscope be done first, leaving the down periscope (which was more likely to induce atrial fibrillation in me) for the finale. ................. Damn, if he didn't get it on the first go-round. ............................ When our kids were born, I recall looking at their various parts .... 10 fingers? just like a person. 10 toes, as well. Eyes in the right place, pretty much, and on and on and on. The anesthetist and the GI doc were just like that. Dang if they didn't have all the parts, including ears that listen. I should explain. Those ears may be connected to minds that disagree but it is so very pleasant to be in contact with others who can hear. ............... Any case, I came through the procedures with everything looking pretty good and no solid explanation for my varied symptoms. .................... Must be gettin' old, Howard, must be gettin' old. Maybe the wiring harness on this Old Jalopy is falling apart .... beginning to fray. A week followed when I was tired. Tried to run a bit in between visitors to my office who seemed to want to cut me no slack. Got a Charlie Horse out of it ... not much more. Online meetings seemed full of cleverness and snarkyness, though it didn't hit home till a lady from London pointed out that our discussions were a bit much. ................................ It's back to that issue of difference. We folk over 60 ... yeah, yeah, yeah! I'm defining the Fourth Quarter as 60-80 and leave the post-80 years to Overtime. Maybe I'll get to write about Overtime, too. Lots of things have to line up for there to be Overtime ... I wouldn't wanna bet on whether a game goes to Overtime ... well ... till it's time. We folk over 60 should have learned that there are many ways to skin a cat ... and each of them may be exquisitely pleasurable (kidding about Kitty).  If 60+ years have passed and one hasn'y learned to appreciate difference and even "similarities among differences and differences among similarities" (an expression I've lifted from Yvonne Agazarian, a post-80 year old theorist about how groups form and behave ... real smart lady, in my estimation), then one is gonna be a real pain in the nether-parts. What the Hell! Life is too complex to have but one story line. ......................... Whether it be theory or the way to best run a polity of mutual concern and interest or what to call the god(s) we worship, there are just too many variables to imagine that different folks wouldn't arrive at different embellishing strokes of the Big Picture. Heartache comes, to my way of thinking, when anyone and their Others imagine that if you come to different conclusions, you both think each Other wrong. .................... People, in second guessing their choices in life and playing "if-only's" are playing the self-same destructive game, themselves. But more of that, soon. ........................ Bye

Dignity in the Breach? Ch 1 ... Getting Ready

Yesterday I had an outing with M which I had prepared for during the previous day and night through calculated alterations to what I put into my body. From early on in our lives, long before the Fourth Quarter begins, even the healthiest among us are subjected to intrusions into the many orifices of our Swiss Cheesed (and Klein-bottled) bodies. We learn the name of the explorer that enters our Ears, Noses and Throats, a tool that will be joined later by more invasive hoses that enter one's nose, wend their way beyond that epiglottis thing boogling in the back of your throat that isn't your tonsils. We learn that it's OK to gag on big fat popsicle sticks and young women by puberty learn that being back in the saddle and stirrups doesn't always require a Texas "yee-hah." Members of both gender classes find out the there are many orifices from which to draw blood and that women doctors are preferable to male ones, particularly those whose hands are dainty enough not to cause too much pain when it's crammed up your Sphinctor Magnum. Scopes and Needles, Needles and Scopes. ........................... Ah, but the Last Quarter and into overtime when it occurs, the writers of our Maleus Maleficarum, the how-to book of the Inqisitors .... Inquisition for Dummies!! .... those guys had something special up their sleaves. .................... The day that Docs discovered that tubes of various diameters can be fitted with cameras for finding the lost passages to (1) the bladder; (2) the bowel and large intestines (Geez! leftovers from that "procedure" can be used to water the distant edges of an English Garden); and (3) a shorter and smaller diameter "probe" ... "hose" ..... "scope" ..... can go down your esophagus ("make way, Gus!) through the Gastro-Esophogeal sphinctor and then South by Southwest through your stomach into the small intestine. Who knew? Dad/Mom wasn't really going to "Talk to a man about a horse" but was being "scoped" in search of thosebrain   lesions that make them forget the names of the intruders! Embarassing, I guess, for parents to tell their grown kids that someone is sticking a garden hose up their asses trying to find evidence of sentient life ...................... OK, OK, OK .... Enough bathroom humor. .... This time it was the upper and lower Gastro-intestinal picnics that are prepared for by swallowing a variety of minor poisons that empty things out sufficiently for spelunkers to explore for cave drawings and other expected growths. ............................... I said expected growths. The Fourth Quarter in the West is not where it was a century ago and not where it is in Sub-Saharan Africa, today. We -- many of us -- live a long time ... and not only our brains forget but so, indeed, does our DNA which forgets how to reproduce, itself, without suddenly replicating so many clones of one kind of cell that it threatens and does choke off life.Ach ... I'm not a cell biologist but a patient getting scoped. ............................ So what were the excitements of the day? ........................ (A) M and I arrived on time with me driving very quickly for fear, as we say to kids, of an accident .... not a car accident but a "time to get the diapers" accident .... our lease ends in 7 weeks and ... anyhow, it woulda/coulda been embarassing. (B) The receptionist smiled ... she smiled a lot ... and talked so quickly that her lip movements became a blur. I did hear something about how I had a sharp eye for noticing the X next to the word signature and that I'd be called to "go back" when (*#%^&&%##$^&*(^%$. (C) The Nurse, when I got back, talked equally as fast and she didn't ewant to be there and didn't want anyone to know that. "She was Ginny and I was Howard, my veins sucked  and it was sunny, outside." After three tries, Ginny wanted me to see that the tube just wasn't flowing with blood. "Shame," I thought, but I was hiding under a sheet in a Johnny Coat and funny socks ... "You gotta look." ... "No, thanks." .... That conversation went on for her repeated attempts to get my veins to cooperate. Ginny said: "I'll go get Richard. He's good at this." We learn quickly that Old People don't have good veins and by the tone of the blood-suckers that just isn't right. (D) Richard had a rough time too, but he persevered and was friendly. How important that is. Richard actually seemed to want to be there. I guess it's not as disturbing as a lover who really wants to be somewhere else, but disturbing, nonetheless. We had spoken on the phone, too, for they had needed a clearance from my heart doctor (all my cardios are younger than my kids and are in charge of permitting me this and that) to proceed. Richard was a good guy and so was the anesthesiologist who was to come next ... and I'll pick up on that later. ................. For now, I'm struck by how it's still important for me while Playing in the Last Quarter to be treated with dignity, maybe especially when I'm about to be penetrated while under the effects of something akin to ... a date-rape drug. Pick up on this thought, tomorrow.

Off to work ....