A New Lease on Life

There comes a time in every person's life when he or she must make a decision that can, ultimately, be life-altering.

On October 13, 2007, I made one such decision. I quit smoking.

This was prompted by a number of reasons. I'd like to say that foremost among them was the fact that I wanted to live many more (and healthier) years with my wife, or that seeing my children and grandchildren come of age was paramount; however, I'd be lying.

The main reason I quit smoking is because I was scared. Not the creepy chill you get when you watch a horror movie, or the thrill that you feel cheating death on a rollercoaster. No, this was outright terror of the sweaty palmed, trapped in a corner kind.

You see, while running some tests for another reason, it came to the attention of my physicians that there was an "anomalous spot" about the size and shape of my thumb in the upper part of my left lung. They didn't say so, but the speed with which they got me in to see a pulmonologist (lung specialist) seemed to spell the big "C" to me.

To make a long story short...a month later, and many more tests completed, and I've been given a positive outlook for my lungs. My blood pressure is perfect, my heart seems healthy, and I don't have any lung disease.

But I'm still overweight and forty-eight...but working on the first, and resigned to the second.

And, as of today, I've been smoke-free for thirty-one days. With, hopefully, a nice long life to look forward to being a recovering smoker.

And so it goes...

Time Flies

Yes, time flies, and times they are a changin'.

I was having a discussion last night about how things have changed just in the last ten years or so--and that led to a discussion about how things were when I was a kid.

Watching a movie: A man is walking down a busy rural road, and a woman stops to offer him a ride. Can you imagine that happening today? If someone sticks their thumb out, most people roll up their windows and accelerate past them, and pretend that they don't feel guilty for pre-judging the hitcher. Granted, even ten years ago, hitching was dangerous--either for the hitcher, or the driver. Thirty years ago, when I did most of my own hitching, I had a couple of scary experiences with drivers. But I (and others like me) continued to hitch. Today, it's easier to just walk. Trying to hitch will either prove frustrating, get you run down, or if you do get picked up, might just end with you rotting in a remote ditch somewhere.

Locking the doors of your house used to be reserved for times when you were going to be gone for several hours or overnight. In this day and age, however, many people double-lock their doors when they're home--and if they go anywhere besides the nearest convenience store, it's double locks and the security system for their house.

Do the above sound like paranoia? Maybe. But it is paranoia based upon personal experience, as well as what can be gleaned from the news.

And whatever you do, don't call the police. As yesterday's news tells us, even they can't be trusted. When a sheriff's deputy goes into jealous rage and kills six people at a house party, God forbid that we call upon that department for something serious.

It's probably best that you just forget the "good old days." Telling your kids about it justs frustrates and angers them; and remembering those days with nostalgia just makes you less satisfied with your own daily life.

Lock your doors, load your guns, and don't leave your house unless you have to--the Huns are at the gate, and it's ready to give way.

And so it goes...

About this Blog...again.

The title is "Aimless Rambling." I think that I've managed to justify that pretty well over the years, touching on whatever happens to cross my mind when I'm at my computer and in the mood for blogging.

The subtitle is "Infrequent and aimless rants, raves, and ramblings." I definitely have the infrequent part down pat...

And so it goes...

Perspective Has Changed

When I was 16, 17, 18 years old, I did what a lot of my contemporaries did: I made out with my girlfriend(s), I smoked, I drank alcohol, I smoked pot.

I drove like an idiot (which the studies say most teenage boys are until they reach their late twenties), and acted pretty much like one. I thought with my balls instead of my brain, which made for lots of fun but no clear future.

Thirty years later, I'm pretty much the same guy that I was then, except for one major change--I'm a parent.

As a parent, I wonder what my own children are doing--and with whom!

Is my daughter making out with her boyfriend--and just what liberties is he taking with my little girl. Is he taking the same liberties with her that I did with someone's little girl so long ago? The thought makes me shudder, and reach for the shotgun.

Is my son taking similar liberties with another man's daughter? Are these the thoughts that went through my parents' minds thirty years ago?

I clearly remember my teenage and young adult years. I had a lot of fun, and I guess I want my children to have fun in their teen years, too.

But...not with my daughter!!! And son, be careful.

Holy shit. I sound like a parent. I've become my Dad...

Is this when youth is truly lost? When you realize that what you did in your youth wasn't necessarily the best choices you've ever made? And when you try to protect your children from making the same mistakes that you would have resented your parents for trying to keep you from doing?

Parental responsibility vs. youth. Do I have a choice???

And so it goes...

Betrayed

My body is betraying me.

At 48 years old, I'm experiencing random episodes of temporary paralysis (both my arms), my right upper back is killing me due to an ill-resolved issue stemming from about 1990, my hands are afflicted with moderate arthritis, my knees are wrecked, I'm too heavy by about 60 pounds, and I'm going bald.

If I left anything out, it's either an oversight on my part or senile dementia. At this point I'm not sure. All I do know for sure is that if I was offered the chance for an eighteen year old clone body for my brain to be transplanted into, I'd jump at the chance.

Ah, to be that young again! To greet each morning with energy and vitality; to be able to run and jump without fear of my knees popping out of their sockets or my lungs and heart giving out on me.

To be young again would make me appreciate it so much more than my first time around.

But how would I explain to my kids that now I'm the same age as they are? How would that affect the parent-child relationship? Would we even be friends?

Perhaps it's better this way, but I'm not sure that I like it. I've aged quite enough, thank you--I'm done now.

And so it goes...

To Blog or Not to Blog...That is the Question

Today, I was berated for not blogging enough--to wit, I was asked, "[Is] nothing going on in the world worth writing about?"

Of course there is. I could write about the problems I'm having with my teenage daughter. I could write about my son's soccer games, and his growth into manhood. I could write about the health problems that I'm experiencing right now--the ones that have me concerned about my immediate future, as well as the future of my family.

I could write about the accident that destroyed our favorite convertible, but harmed no one. I could blog about the state of affairs in the world.

Or I can do what I do on a daily basis: I deal with my daughter one day at a time, and help to guide her into adulthood with a sense of responsibility. I attend soccer games that my son plays in, and try to squeeze in a couple of hours of quality time with him in between his practices, his games, his schoolwork, and his life. I go to my doctor appointments, follow my doctor's advice, and try not to worry about my health any more than I need to. I deal with insurance companies, finance companies, and car dealers. I read the paper and watch the news, and worry about the world that my children are growing up into--the one that my lonely little blog will not affect in the slightest.

In short, I live my life--full and rich, fraught with daily problems, dilemnas, small happinesses and large disappointments. And if I think at all about blogging, it's a passing thought.

And one that I sometimes--but obviously not often enough--take the time to put into words.

And so it goes...

Thirty Years...and Still Counting

It's been thirty years since I graduated high school...and today is my thirty year reunion. I could go--but I'm not. It's only about an hour drive to get there, but it doesn't start until 3 p.m.--and I have to work tonight.

Yeah, I could put in an appearance, but is there anyone there that I really want to see? I haven't seen any of my old classmates since my fifteen year reunion, and I was a very different person then. Different wife, different life, younger, thinner, and more prepared for the changes in my classmates.

I only went to the school for my senior year. The friends I made then were temporary at best (except Jean! Always Jean!).

There will be another reunion another year, perhaps. Maybe I'll make that one, if only just to see all of the old people that we have become.

Until then, my memories are intact...and perhaps that's the way they should stay--just memories.

And so it goes...

GONE SOUTH

Way back at the dawn of time (the Fall of 1999, to be exact), my family and I went on a trip of a lifetime--we spent nine days in Orlando, Florida, taking in the Disney Parks and Sea World.

Well, it seems that the "trip of a lifetime" can be done twice...but the differences are remarkable the second time around.

The first trip that we made was fun, but whirlwind. My son was just eight years old, and my daughter not quite ten--and their sense of wonder and fun made the trip fun for me, even though my tolerance for crowds and amusement parks is somewhat limited. But this was DISNEY, and that made all the difference.

My daughter went on her first "upside-down" rollercoaster there--Aerosmith's Rockin' Rollercoaster--and many of the other rides and attractions were of a unique nature not found at our 'local' amusement park, Six Flag's Great America. We even rode the "teacups" at Magic Kingdom, just to say that we had :-)

Eight years later, and there had been many changes to the parks, and we went to the Universal Studios parks this time, as well. But the most significant changes weren't in the parks, but in us.

I am eight years older. At forty, the parks were fun, but I was worn out at the end of the vacation. At forty-eight, the fun was mostly gone, and I was worn out after the first day. But I made the most of it, since it cost me an arm, a leg, and other body parts I can't mention to take us to Orlando for two full weeks.

My wife is a big kid. She loves the parks, the people, and the souvenirs. She laughs and thrills to the most silly and child-like of the attractions, and pouts like a baby when she can't get something that she wants. Sometimes I think these trips are all about her...but she tries to make things fun for all of us.

My kids are jaded. They have lost their sense of wonder, and want instant gratification in the place of fun. My son still thrills to a good ride, but thinks that anything with a Disney character theme is too "kiddish." My daughter just doesn't seem to enjoy anything that doesn't involve her car or her cell phone.

But this was the last big vacation that we'll be able to take as a family--at least for a long time--and we wanted to make it memorable. I took about 500 pictures, a bunch of 'coaster videos, and we finally saw the Magic Kingdom's fireworks (they were rained out in '99).

So, all things considered, it was worth the money, the headaches, and the taking off of shoes in the airport security checkpoint.

But time keeps on keepin' on, and when all is said and done, all we have of our trip are some souvenirs, some photos, and some memories. I hope that for all of us, they are good ones.

And so it goes...

Why Do You Bother?

I just read my last two posts. Am I always this depressingly philosophical? Do I try to rationalize life and existence--and if so, to whom? You? Me?

Just once I wish I could write something a bit more upbeat. I guess I could if I tried; but trying takes effort, and lately I've been too sick to breathe, let alone blog.

Tune in next time. We'll see what happens, you and I.


And so it goes...

As the Years Fly By

I don't remember getting old. What I do remember is the journey here.

Little things crop up in my memory every once in a while that make it evident that while I may not really be old, I've taken a long time to get where and when I am. For instance, the other day when I mentioned to my friend that this May will mark the thirtieth anniversary of my high school graduation, she smiled, chuckled, and said, "Oh. That's when I was two." Long journey for me, not so long for her.

When I think about my children, I can remember holding them in my arms for the first time, changing their diapers, feeding and caring for them, watching them take their first hesitant steps, and the like. Now my eldest is twenty-six with two growing children of their own; my second eldest is a year from graduation, driving everywhere, and holding down a job; and my youngest is a high-school letterman, only months from getting his driver's license, and about to celebrate his two-year anniversary with his girlfriend.

Where does the time go? Are there only so many minutes in the day that we can spend making memories? Are the highs and lows all that remain at the end of the road? And if so, why don't we take more time to make more memories? Is it because when all is said and done, memories are as painful as they are poignant, as fleeting as the time spent making them?

What all this boils down to is this: For me, life is just too damn short! I don't want to live to be seventy or eighty and have only my memories to sustain me in the end. I want to continue to make memories, those bright shiny coins that we are paid for living a rich life.

I just want more time. I look back over the last few days, and I see so much time wasted doing things that really don't matter a helluva lot in the grand scheme of my life. But the daily grind sometimes makes it all seem so pointless, so useless, that coming up with the energy to do something real seems impossible.

As a sidenote to this: I guess part of me longs for immortality. That being said, and given the apparent improbability of that happening, the only alternative is for me to become embedded in the memories of others. Let me become the thoughts that make them smile occasionally; let me be the person they think of and heave a deep sigh; let me be the one who did something so significant in someone's life that they'll never forget me.

Tick tock. Tick tock. There goes another wasted minute, and here I am moaning about it to whoever reads this.

Make a memory. Make a difference.

Like "Tuck" said in Tuck Everlasting, "Don't fear death. Rather, fear the un-lived life."

And so it goes...

Now is the Time

We have today. That is all that we have.

Tomorrow is not yet here, and we have no assurances that it will ever come. Yesterday is gone, and while it may be remembered with nostalgia, it is forever past.

Hang on to the now for its fleeting moments, for they, too, will soon become yesterday. Do things today that will enhance the chance of tomorrow.

Live in the now. Before you know it, your past will be richer and longer than your future, but looking back is no way to live.

Look around, smell the roses, hug your kids, love your spouse, rake the lawn, close your eyes and face the warmth of the sun, cook a meal--all the things that make living worthwhile.

And while you're at it, breathe deeply, and enjoy life.

And so it goes...

Wouldya? Couldya?

If I had it all to do over again, would I? Would you?

Take a look at your life--not just where you are today, but where you were in all of your yesterdays, and how they brought you to this point in your life. Is there anything you would change--and if so, how would that change affect the rest of your life?

I look back on what I have done over the years, who I have known, and all of the friends that I have made and lost in my life. What would I change?

Would I change moving to Texas in 1977 (a major crux in my life); would I change the breakup with my girlfriend that just sort-of happened just prior to that? Would I not move to Oshkosh in 1978, and all that happened because of that move?

Would I not meet and marry my first wife, and consequently not have my oldest daughter or my grandchildren? And because of that, would I not end up in Janesville with my second wife, and my two younger children?

Would I miss any of it if it had not happened? Would I know???

It would be interesting if we could spark up the old WhatIf machine, and just take a peek at our lives...but in the time that would take, we would use up our present lives just watching the past.

I guess that it's best to just live our lives, put the past to rest, and try to make the best of where we are today.

After all, we're the ones who got us here--even if we would wish otherwise.

And so it goes...

The Way I Was

Something about nostalgia makes me feel like a junkie who wants to quit, but keeps going back. What nostalgia does for me is something akin to what that junkie must feel: a need for it, but when you get it, it makes you wish you hadn't.

Nostalgia for me is a way of remembering my past. But hindsight has its bad points, too--like pointing out just how far back you can remember...and how much less you have ahead of you.

For me, it's a mixed thrill. I find that I keep going back to that well more and more all the time, even though I know that one day I will fall down that deep hole in the ground, and that's it--game over, end of story, finito.

And what will happen to my nostalgia when I'm no longer around to remember? Gone, like dust in the wind.

So why do I bother? Because someone has to. And it might as well be me.

Besides, if I share some of it with others, and they share it with others, etc., then a little bit of what I did might outlive me.

And that, my friend, is all the immortality we get.

Remember. Share those memories. Take pictures. GET THE WORD OUT!

You only get one trip around the block, so make it memorable.

And if I bring out a photo album or show you home movies when you come over, don't bitch at me--or I just might throw you out on your ass.

Wouldn't that make for a great memory? WHERE'S MY CAMERA???


And so it goes...

Whistle While You Work...and Talk...and Sleep...

I have tinnitus. For those of you who are not familiar with this condition, it is a hearing condition that can be brought on by a host of reasons; but the reasons are really unimportant. What is important is the symptoms.

In my case, the tinnitus causes a loud, whistling sound that seems to be in my left ear, but pervades the whole of my inner head (subjectively). For a better demonstration of what I go through 24 hours a day, take an old teapot--the kind that whistles when the water's boiling. Set it to boiling. When it is whistling at its best and loudest, put your left ear approximately a foot away from it. Hold it there until the water is gone and the whistling stops. Then repeat. And repeat. And repeat.

Now, while you're doing this experiment, try to do something for which hearing is useful. Like watching television. Or holding a conversation.

After 8-10 hours of this, try to sleep with the teapot whistling near your ear. Make sure that someone is there to change the water every hour or thereabout, so that you can get the full effect of my tinnitus.

Now you know why I can't sleep. At least in part.

My wife says, "go see a doctor." I say, "whatever."

But you know (and I will deny ever having said this), this time she might just be right.

And so it goes...

Hours with My Eyes Closed

Today is Saturday. I have not slept since Tuesday past.

My mind races, and I desperately try to sleep, but something keeps me awake. I'd like to say that in its race, my mind is working on something amazing, but in reality, all I hear from my mind is the 'wahwah' of Charlie Brown's parents. Sound without meaning. Or maybe I just can't translate it.

Maybe that nasty wahwah is my brain's way of saying, "Get some sleep, idiot!"

I wish I could.

Today I will try again, with the help of some peace and quiet, a cup of Sleepytime tea, and a dose of full strength, drowsy-type Benadryl.

If I don't sleep soon, I may have to seek medical attention. After all, at my age and in my health, I'm a prime candidate for a heart attack or stroke if I don't get some rest. This old body can only keep going at this pace for a little while longer before I literally crash.

So...now I lay me down to sleep, I hope my rest is dark and deep...

And so it goes...

You Can Never Go Back...

I drove into the town of 3000 or so people, and the streets looked familiar to me, even though I hadn't been down them in nearly thirty years. Some things had changed, too; I wasn't sure what, at first, but then it struck me. While I had aged thirty years, the little town had aged, too.

The streets were still laid out like I remembered, but the faces had changed. Not the faces of the people, though if I'd seen anyone from the 'old days', I'm not sure that I would have recognized them. Rather, it was the face of the town that had changed. More worn and rundown than I recalled, with many of the once familiar signs changed to different names, different things.

Gone was Burn's Hardware. The sign on the Bridge Lounge was faded and nearly illegible, and I found out later that it had not been open in years. Where once a small, red pole barn sat on the site of the original Trek Bicycle works, now there were several huge warehouses, squatting like an ugly, cancerous blight in what had once been a neighborhood.

I drove past the house in which I had lived for a couple of years, and was dismayed to see the paint peeling on the drab remnant of what had once been a house filled with the town's history. Gone from in front of the house was the old coachstone that had borne the name of one of the town's founding fathers. Gone were many of the old trees that had once shaded the sidewalks and lent a homey atmosphere to the area. Gone was the feeling of neighborhood.

I drove around the town for as long as I could stand it--a mere fifteen or twenty minutes--but long enough to let me see most of the town. So much looked the same, yet so much had changed.

My old home town had the look of a woman who, in her youth, was pretty and bright and polished. But that young woman has long since come of age, and in her declining years she has lost what beauty that youth gave her, and in place of that shiny penny, all that is left now is a tarnished and dying husk.

They say that you can never go back. I guess, in the end, they're right. Memories make such attempts bittersweet at best; at its worst, nostalgia just makes us feel old.

And so it goes...