Would You Believe It?

While Barbara is away, I have been watching the idiot box a lot. Well, we do that when she is here too. Anyway, two things hit me last night while watching "Prison Break" and one other serial.

First, since when do they have pay phones in prison yards? Did some legal eagle convince them that for inmates not to ba able to phone home is "cruel and unusual"? I wouldn't be surprised. My old dad always had two things to say about people in jails; one, they are not smart or they wouldn't be crooks, and two, jail is not supposed to be fun. I was further convinced of this when Chief Mainord, our town's police chief and neighbor, let me tour the local jail while I waited for the bus on Sunday mornings after Sunday School. Those Saturday night drunks never looked like they were happy. The place didn't smell good, and they all wanted to make phone calls. In that jail, there was no exercise yard. The only exercise that one got was walking in and out.

The other thing that hit me was that, in today's world, a man with hair on his chest is at a disadvantage. When I was a young sprout, I did everything but kiss my elbow, so that I would have hair on my chest, just like dad. Now, he wasn't an ape, but he did have a moderate growth there. The things that I did to insure trichosis on my chest would fill a small book. It was a sign of manhood, and I needed to be a man. The crusts on bread and eating all my carrots come quickly to mind. Later, I learned about genetics, so I still shed a few when I towel off. I am told that men today who want to be attractive get a wax job. I think that would feel a lot like old time adhesive tape being pulled off quickly.

No thanks!

IRS Tables and Me

Not long ago, I had a chance to see the IRS Longevity Tables while looking at some investment choices.

Blow me away!!! I have a chance, only a chance, no guarantee, that I will live to be 87 years old. Not only that, if I live to be 87, my chances of 88 are great. Now that scares me a lot.

First, I may spend all my money. I DO NOT relish drooling in some Medicare facility (God knows what they will be like if I am 87). I DO NOT relish drooling any where. If my life's experiences have taught me anything at all, it is that there are a lot worse things here "alive" than being dead.

Second, the few friends that I have (my choice) will mostly, if not all, be dead. I have some great children and grandchildren, but that isn't the same as old buddies.

Third, I might not have Barbara. She insists that she will go first, but I keep telling her that the statistics are on my side. I don't want that to happen to me (selfish).

Fourth, I likely will be so gimped up that I won't be able to take a walk. Rocking chairs are fine if you are rocking a baby, but not if you cannot get up out of them.

Fifth, the sphincters will be gone or, at best, lazy. Need I say more? I do not want to do any commercials for Depends! Bob Dole, excuse me.

OK, lets look at the best scenario. I make it to 87, and Barbara is with me. We both can still function as the best 87 year olds can do (maybe better).My children will be in their sixth and seventh decades. My grandchildren will be at least in their fourth decades. That could be a lot of fun! I will most likely be a great grandfather.

Here in CH, people have retained a great deal of respect for the elderly. There is no question that I will be the oldest American living in Sachseln, or, maybe the whole country. That said, this a country of centurions, so I still may be a puppy in comparison.

Now, if I can just figure out a way to get my liver to last. It is already up for a gold medal.

My Friend Octavius

A new friend showed up the other day. Some would call her Octavia or Octavius. I don't know the gender, so I will leave that question open. I do know that this beautiful, inch long spider has a place in my balcony.

"It" showed up a week or so ago and wove a beautiful two plus feet web over my parsley and basil plants on the balcony. By accident, I disturbed the web, only to find it rewoven the next day. Now, I see Octavius on occasion. It being shy, it usually comes to web center only when some prey needs attention. I have noticed several flys, etc. In the web from time to time. Octavius waits high up in a corner until the struggles cease, and then the arachnid quickly wraps the prey in a cocoon of web for storage.

Yesterday, I observed Octavius having a meal. With one leg holding the fly, it was drained of its juices and then discarded. The picture is not a great one due to using a handheld digital camera at Macro setting. The spider is a light golden color with some black markings on its abdomen.

"OK", What is this?

What is this with the word "OK"? OK, I know what it means, but why do people use it as a question? "I'm OK" is fine. So is "the game was OK". "Are you OK?", or "is the dog OK?" are fine to use as an interrogative.

I object to people making a statement or request and then following it up with an "OK". "Will you shut the door?", or "Will you call your brother for me?" are fine. Why ask permission to ask a question?

Parents, teachers, and other adults ask children such questions, and then they finish it with an "OK". I don't know when this started in my generation, but it was after I was grown. My parents never asked me "OK" after a request. I knew there was no negotiation to a request; it just got done.

Some might say that being a parent now requires cooperation of the child. I don't think it does. "Close the door when you leave" is a form of instruction, not a point of discussion. Children crave instruction. A friend who used to work at an educational TV station once told me that. Watch little kids when a commercial comes on TV. They will run from one end of the house to the other to stand and watch.

"OK?" is an opening for negotiation. Kids don't know how to negotiate until they are much older. It is confusing for them. Now, older kids and adults may want to negotiate, but a six year old doesn't have a clue.

Oh boy! I know that a lot of people won't agree, but that's why I have my blog.