We still subscribe to the Lawrence Journal-World newspaper. Becky uses it to see what TV channel the KU games will be on (if any) and checks for grocery ads and coupons. I don’t read it. An old high school buddy of mine who also lives in Lawrence was a prof in the journalism school for many years. He called it the Lawrence Journal-Rag. Because of the paper subscription there’s also a digital subscription, and I let them send me daily emails that tell me what the headlines are in certain categories. (I’m getting close to the point of this story). The headline categories are “News Headlines”, “Police Blotter”, and “Obituaries”. The only one I actually open every time is “Obituaries”. You see, I’ve arrived at that age when people I know have begun dying.
After you hit 65 there comes a point in nearly every conversation with someone else in the same boat when somebody remarks, “Ever notice how we always end up talking about our health?” Yes, I’ve noticed that.
When you hit 70 your contemporaries start dying off. Dear old Dad was fond of remarking, as he approached 90, that all his friends were dead. He was proud of his age. Nevertheless, it killed him not long afterward.
I know a number of people whose family live within relatively short distances, like an hour’s drive or less. There’ll be brothers and sisters in their 65+ years with maybe one or two of their parents, along with spouses and children and grandchildren, maybe some aunts, uncles and cousins. A sizeable number will gather at someone’s house for Thanksgivings and Christmases and other holidays and family events and gatherings. Those who reach tottering age and are either home bound or nursing home bound aren’t lonely; they’ll be visited by somebody in the family probably every week, certainly once or twice a month. Somebody will drive them to the family gatherings. I don’t see this in the cards for us. We can’t afford to move to California where our other family members live. They aren’t about to move to Kansas where we live. At some point in the not too distant future we won’t be able to tolerate the physical demands of flying back and forth to visit them. Then we’ll totter, alone except for each other, for however long it takes, and, finally, die alone in Kansas.
So, that’s it. Seniority. It sucks. Not something to look forward to.
Can’t believe spring started a week ago (oh, I know, not officially) and now it’s that damnable Daylight Saving Time. Where did that name come from, anyway? They can’t save daylight. You get the same amount of daylight in a day no matter what time you set on your clock. The crazy thing is the grass has turned green and started growing, the mornings are noisy with chirping birds, and they must be finding bugs to eat so I won’t be surprised if the mosquitoes are swarming any moment now. I suppose there could be a surprise snowstorm in the works and, if it actually happens, I would be quite surprised. This just feels too much like winter is history. Hey! Here’s a selfie from one of our walks last week. Sorry, kinda cut most of Becky out.
I’ve seen these hundreds, nay, thousands of times on websites, but only recently did the truly ominous implication strike me so bluntly. It’s like the ultimate personal surrender, the terminal consignment of self, the final relinquishment of free will. You either SUBMIT or you don’t, there are no options, there’s no in-between. There’s often small print at the bottom that says something similar to this one. As is well known, understood, and expected, nobody clicks off to some other page to read whatever it is before they SUBMIT. Maybe you should think about it. I’m going to. Even so, there’s still no guarantee that what one is about to SUBMIT to will have anything to do with one’s expectations. Just remember, once you SUBMIT, THAT’S IT. Have you ever seen an UN-SUBMIT button afterwards? I didn’t think so.