Just a little more than usual
Of the domesticated variety, I’d have to say dogs. Undomesticated? Probably one of the big cats, maybe the cheetah. Their speed and maneuverability are stunning, and they’ve always seemed somewhat refined to me.
Birds are fascinating, as well. Floating on the thermals, getting, well, a bird’s eye view of everything. I’ve always been a bit envious.
I’ve always tried to minimize my online footprint, which is most likely futile. As it is, I use the texting app on my phone, along with email, a weekly Zoom session with family, and an occasional Facetime chat. That’s enough of a cyber plunge.
No X, Instagram, TikTok, or anything else of that nature.
This time around, it’s a trip we took as a family in the summer of 1964, when we drove from our home in central Massachusetts to Sycamore, IL.
There were seven of us– Mom and Dad, my two brothers and two sisters, the youngest of which was less than a year old. I was 10. We were riding in a maroon 1960 Pontiac Catalina station wagon, a boat-like vehicle with few modern safety features– if there were seatbelts, they weren’t used, and there might have been a padded dashboard. The speed limit on I-90 was at least 70 MPH most of the way.
I forget where we stayed the first night, probably somewhere in Ohio, but I do remember seeing Lake Erie for the first time. My Dad pointed it out by saying something like, “Look over there. See that blue that looks like sky? That’s actually water.” Or something like that. It was an amazing sight.
I don’t remember everything about our stay at our aunt and uncle’s place, mostly bits and pieces. I do remember a thunderstorm that forced us to sleep on the living room floor one night (we had been sleeping in a screened-in portion of an outbuilding on the property). We got to meet some folks on my uncle’s side of the family, connections we’d have for the rest of our lives. We went to the Museum of Science and Industry in Chicago, and took in a Yankees-White Sox game at Comiskey Park. Whitey Ford was on the mound, and I think both Mantle and Maris were playing.
I remember, on the way home, stopping at Niagara Falls and the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, NY. And I also recall that by the time we got to Cooperstown, we were all getting tired and cranky from sitting in a confined space for extended periods of time.
When school started back up, it was the experience I shared with the class when we talked about What We Did This Summer.
Just about any flavor of Pop Corners, an Oatmeal Raisin Clif Bar, Smartfood White Cheddar popcorn, regular popped corn with a bit of salt, an apple, cheese and crackers, a bowl of cereal. Maybe a small piece of dark chocolate for dessert…
Nothing is jumping out at me except the first baseball glove I ever had. My Uncle Freddie gave it to me and I used it from Little League all the way up to when I tried out for the high school team. I eventually got a new one because it was too small and used hard over the years.
I really can’t think of anything else, besides “souvenirs” I would take home from trips to different places– a rock, a pine cone, a shell, or something like that.
Given the current goings on in America, I’d say to be an engaged citizen. I know how all this feels to me, and it doesn’t feel right. We’re being “led” by a cornered rat, a lying, self-absorbed, incompetent, immature, shallow, vengeful, and angry old man. And the people around him are awful for similar and different reasons.
Interesting time to be alive, to put it mildly.
Once most people reach the age of cognition, maybe they hope to stick around for as long as possible. My thoughts largely reflect this desire– as long as I’m able to fend for myself and not become a major burden to anyone. Quality of life has become a cliched catchphrase, but it does matter when one is talking about living a long time.
There is a difference between maintaining a certain vitality and merely existing, though in each case there may still be a drive to stay alive. Some people have a death wish and sometimes that wish is granted, but by and large, I believe folks prefer to not just survive but to live a long, satisfying life. Love, laughter, a certain autonomy, living free of strife and sickness and oppression, maybe even leaving their mark, leaving some sort of legacy. Or at least being missed when they’re gone.
Be less a creature of habit– I know that drives my wife a bit crazy. I could look for a part-time job, I could get involved in the community somehow, maybe find a singing group to join. I could be more intentional about finishing projects I’ve started, and be less afraid of making mistakes along the way.
In general, I could be less uptight.
The first thing that comes to mind is just a bit of text: To the 77 million: Still happy with your choice? Nothing else, just white text centered on a dark background. But I suppose that wouldn’t be the most judicious use of the space.
I keep coming back to the image I believe I used last year– a delicate flower growing out of a crack in the macadam, nothing else.
At this point, any future thinking revolves around plans to visit someone or do errands or go out to eat. Since my brother’s death this past May, I have been taking stock, trying to come to terms, maybe, with my own mortality and the fact that there is much less life in front of me than is now water under the bridge. It’s sobering, but I know I can’t live in that state. It’s rather depressing.
I still enjoy having something to look forward to, and the grandkids keep me grounded in the present. But this is tempered anymore by the realization that “Some day, I’m going to…” isn’t said with the same open-endedness, as if there will always be time to get to everything. Maybe there’s a heightened sense of urgency to pick and choose, and follow through.
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3 Cents' 