The Trailing Edge

                        I recently recalled an incident that took place a couple of decades ago. I was out to brunch with my friend Christopher, his wife Kristi, and their very young son Casey. It was a routine meal, until we became aware of a commotion across the room. Apparently, another patron had experienced a health crisis, quite possibly a heart attack. There was no outcry, but as is typical in such situations, a crowd gathered around the table. Someone was on the floor; someone else was trying to render aid, and someone called 911. We stayed put, not wanting to get in the way and knowing there was nothing we could contribute to the situation anyway. But after a few minutes, Christopher picked up Casey (very young, as I said -- probably no more than one and a half, just barely vocal, much less verbal) and said "I'm taking him outside. He doesn't need to see this." He stayed outside the restaurant with Casey as the rest of us finished our meal and settled

Here is an idea: There is no climate change.    I choose to ignore facts like: droughts in California leading to wild fires, hurricanes every week tearing up the Caribbean, floods in the Midwest where they never had them before, melting ice caps  and corresponding ocean rise that will put Florida under water. How, you are asking, can I ignore facts?    Let me tell you a story. For some women, childbirth is difficult and painful. These women swear they will never do this again, yet a year or so later, they are having another child. What happened? The women forget, or something like that, the difficulties and the pains.    It's what we do as people, we ignore the bad. In my case, I have more years behind me than in front of me. My life expectancy is a too small number. I am working very hard to ignore and forget my death. If I can manage that, surely it is easy to ignore climate change. In fact, I plan to be one of the few people who live for a

True story. I am walking to my car and I notice a couple of Jewish fellows, twenty- somethings, with bouquets of what looks like bamboo or palm. I know they are Jewish for they look Hasidic. They are wearing long black jackets, wide brim black fedora hats, and have curly sideburns. In truth, I classify all Jewish who dress like this as Hasidic although they may identify themselves differently. They are standing near the corner canvassing passersby. One of the fellows looks me over and asks, “Are you Jewish?” I look Jewish? This is a revelation to me. People have called me good names and bad names but Jewish is a first. Maybe he senses my love of bagels? They do say, you are what you eat. "No," I say, "what is that you're holding?" He is kind enough to explain the bouquet. He says that they are plants - he names them - to symbolize scholars who study the Torah and those who don’t, and people who do good deeds and those who don’t. There is more a

                    This past summer, we downsized to a mobile home, and it was a great opportunity to unload a lot of clothes, books and decor that we'd long since grown tired of. The phenomenon of "ownership transfer"  has really begun to fascinate me.

It is odd how marijuana became legal: People voted on it. As far as I know, it's the only drug that is treated this way. Normally, it's the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) here in the U.S. that figures these things out. Doctors and researchers run tests, and the FDA reviews the results and decides, Yea or Nay . But for marijuana, the people voted to make it legal. What do we, the voters, know about medicine? We hold opinions that have no basis in medicine. Those who smoke marijuana and feel good using it want to legalize. Others see marijuana as a gateway drug - if you smoke marijuana, you will end using heroin/cocaine. This is so emotional and not based on any health research. We are in this odd voting dilemma because of weak-willed politicians. Politicians are seeking votes and will pander to voters. I give you what you want, legal marijuana, right or wrong, and you will vote for me. It's the worst side of politicians. Then pop culture presents marijuana as a fun

                  Jimmy watched her leave her garden apartment. Her name was Carmella Consuelo. Jimmy confirmed her name by checking her mail box. Her mother must have been a poet to pick a name for her that flowed off the tongue so beautifully.  Carmella was beautiful too, really nice to look at, dressing as she did in pencil skirts, showing off her fine figure and her alluring walk, like a gentle sway in a breeze. He had been following her about New York City for three days now working out a time to get at her. She went to upscale stores and fine restaurants.  Every day she went to her bank. She did not go to an office nor any place one could call her work place. This time, Jimmy watched her leave her apartment without following her. He had seen what he need to know of her. It was time for his next move. Jimmy picked the lock to her apartment.  It was easy. He chuckled, Carmella should complain to the building management about that. Not much security to protect a young and

Note: In the blog that recently went away forever, I had playfully posted several times about branded products I owned, knowing (or believing) that somewhere out there, data analysts were busy compiling this information to get a consumer profile of me. But not being much of a consumer, compared to most people, I ran out of stuff to tally. Well, it's a new time and a new place (new state, new environment, etc. etc.), not to mention a new blog, so here goes. Get out your pencils, everyone! [Ticonderoga or Pedigree are my preferred brands of pencil, btw.] ~