Time Is Passing Too Quickly

When I was a kid I wanted time to pass quickly. Early in my childhood I wanted to be a grown-up so I could have ice cream and candy whenever I wanted and I could stay up past my bedtime to watch TV. A few years later, in my teenage years, I wanted to be old enough to get my driver's license and buy beer. Those days are a distant past.

Seemingly not long ago I found a shiny, brand new quarter in some change. I decided to save it so I put the coin on a desk and later when the desk was jostled, the quarter fell to the floor against the wall, inconveniently behind the desk. About 15 minutes ago I lowered myself down onto all fours, climbed under the desk and retrieved that freshly-minted quarter. This is 2019. I noticed that the quarter was dated 2015. Did I really acquired that quarter 4 years ago? I could have sworn it had been within the last year. Yes, now time passes too quickly. Christmases come along too rapidly. Semiannual dentist appointments seem weeks apart. I will be shocked when I learn that a movie I saw at the theater was 10 years ago and not the 3 or 4 I would have guessed.

All of this means I am aging faster than I think I am, therefore death is coming up more quickly than I realize that it is. I am not thrilled with the aging but it is death that really concerns me. I try to rationalize it. I think: I'll be dead so I won't really miss both the fun, and the pain of living. For some reason that seems to be small consolation. On a positive note, at least now I can buy beer and am allowed to eat all the candy I want.

A Few Places I Wanted To Live When I Grew Up

I was just looking at a map of the U.S. I have traveled around the country a lot without ever actually living anyplace but in Columbus, Ohio. I have been in 43 states. I am missing a couple of New England states, Hawaii and Alaska. Most of those states were visited in optimum times of the year for pleasant weather. Several times I have said that if I could, I would like to live here (where I was at that moment).

The first time this happened to me was in 1958. I was 7 years old and we were on a family vacation to Florida. We were on the eastern edge of North Carolina when we stopped for lunch. I'm not sure what town that was but it was a family-type restaurant located in a nice neighborhood. The restaurant itself was clean and modern. I remember an outer space-ish chandelier, the type popular in the late 1950s. I thought it was a very neat-o restaurant in a really keen neighborhood. I probably had my standard restaurant meal at that age consisting of a hamburger and a chocolate milk shake. It was undoubtedly wonderful. As we piled into my dad's Oldsmobile to travel on down the highway, I declared to anyone who would listen that I was going to move into the neighborhood, right next to that restaurant, when I grew up.

About 20 years ago I was in western Colorado. My lady friend, Diana, and I had just spent a few days in the Rocky Mountains and we were headed west to Utah. We had a motel reservation in Grand Junction, Colorado. I remember pulling into the motel parking lot, looking to the east and seeing the Rockies, majestically glowing in the late afternoon sun. The next day we traveled west and immediately we encountered the headwaters of the Colorado River and the first traces of the Grand Canyon. Wow, to the east the Rockies, to the west, the spires and red rock canyons. I made a mental note to move to Grand Junction should I get the chance.

On the eastern side of California there is highway 395 going north and south. It goes through a little town of Lone Pine. To the west of the community are the scenic Alabama Hills, known as a film location for countless westerns. Travel a little farther that direction and you're in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Trek out of Lone Pine east bound and you're in desert. I have always appreciated the somber, unbound view across a desert. Diana and I have passed through Lone Pine a number of times and each time I have liked the feel of it. On one trip we actually gave a quick look to a house that was listed as for sale. I would not have had the courage to seriously consider it, let alone sign papers. Maybe somewhere in the back of my mind was that place in North Carolina. That was a pretty nifty chandelier.

A Grand Celebration, Once Upon a Time

I live in Columbus, Ohio, home of The Ohio State University. Not surprising, I have been an Ohio State University football fan since before I can remember. Given that I am 67 years old, that would place the beginning of my fandom in the 1950s somewhere. I've never been a crazed fan, but I've always been a fan.

The Team won their game today against Michigan, their archrival. They were not favored but they won handily 62-39. They may have a shot at playing for the national title.

This reminds me a lot of the 1968 season. I was a high school senior then. They beat #1 ranked Purdue earlier in the season and if they beat Michigan, they would be ranked #1 and as I recall, be in line for the national title.

When they defeated Michigan that Saturday afternoon in 1968, I went down on campus to what I figured would be a massive celebration. A pretty good celebration broke out after the Purdue game so I figured the Michigan celebration would be that much better. The Ohio State campus is situated on High Street, which is a four lane, high traffic street. For about a half mile one side of the street is the campus, the other side consists of various eateries and bars. That's the way it is now and that's pretty much the way it was then.

It was a great celebration in 1968. High Street was flooded with students and revelry. They closed the street to traffic. Kids were sharing alcoholic beverages. I was spontaneously kissed by a pretty girl or two and maybe one or two more that weren't so pretty. I didn't care. I received piggyback rides from strangers and sang the team song, Hang On Sloopy, in unison with other intoxicated kids I had never seen before and would never see again. I was 17 years old, drinking Colt 45 Malt Liquor, among other beverages and was in the middle of the biggest mass party in the history of The Ohio State University.

That was 50 years ago. In fact, it was 50 years ago the day before the publishing of this blog entry. I went down to the shindig with two high school classmates. One of them I now see only every 5 years at class reunions. The other one died a few years ago. I had seen him only about 2 or 3 times in the last 30 years.

This evening I drove down to High Street on campus, to the site of that grand celebration 5 decades ago. It was purely a case of sentimentality, of "old times' sake", with perhaps a dash of simple curiousity. This time around High Street was not blocked off to traffic. Students were walking down the sidewalks. There seemed to be a fair number of kids out and about but I didn't see any overt celebrating. It is probably best that everything was under control, but I can't help thinking that they are missing out. That was one helluva party in 1968. I should know, I was definitely there.

What Roosevelt's 1914 Brazilian Expedition Taught Me

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I just watch a two hour PBS presentation on Teddy Roosevelt's expedition into the Brazilian jungle. Theodore Roosevelt was an ex-president who was a big game hunter in Africa. An expedition into the jungle would seem to be right up his alley. But it took something like three months and it was far more difficult then anyone expected. Three people in the party died. Teddy Roosevelt himself almost perished. He was never the same afterwards and he died about five years later.

Some of the media of the day thought it was just a kind of combination publicity stunt/ego boost conceived by Roosevelt to get attention and that there was no actual benefits to the expedition. When I gave it some thought, that was pretty much my opinion on it. There was really no good reason to go into the South American jungle. In reality, very little was learned, scant little was accomplished.

I got to thinking about the differences of a 1914 Brazilian jungle expedition as opposed to the American expedition to the moon in the 1960s. The lunar landing did not really have any benefits, strictly speaking. We knew most everything about the moon without actually setting foot on it. The difference between the two expeditions is that a whole lot of stuff had to be developed before we could fly to the moon. Propulsion systems had to be made, primitive computers (by today's standards) had to be built and utilized and many other scientific and technological advances had to be conceived. The Roosevelt expedition into the jungle required no such technological progress. The canoes used were no different than ones used thousands of years earlier.

It is kind of a cruel way of putting it, but if Teddy Roosevelt would have stayed home, three men would not have died and unless he was a masochist, Roosevelt would have had a more enjoyable three months of his life and very possibly, a longer life overall.

Here is what can be learned at the individual level... don't climb to the top of Mt. Everest and don't hike across Death Valley in the summer. You will be miserable. It might even kill you. And there is nothing to be gained. If there is some psychological need to do such things, the trip that should be made is to a therapist.

Fun Without Accomplishment

There is an infinite number of types of people. But there are people who are always looking to accomplish things, and then there are people who don't worry about such things. In that strict sense, there are only two types of people. I am the latter of the two. I am retired now but when I wake up in the morning, I put no demands on myself to accomplish anything. I don't think about mowing the lawn, or painting a room, or writing a blog entry. I suppose if I have a goal day in and day out, it is to find amusement. But then, that has always been the case. 

I blame this attitude on my being a poor student. I could not have been a good one. I had below average scholastic aptitude. I knew by the time I was 14 that there was never going to be a college education. I was not going to be a neurosurgeon, or a archaeologist, or a university professor. I was going to drive a bus, or sell furniture, or be a plumber. Something like that would be my source of income, none of them could be my life's interest. Those occupations simply are not interesting. They are chosen based on income and availability, not because of some life's interest. 

I did my best driving a delivery truck, and I was not ashamed of doing it, but it was not what I proclaimed I wanted to be when I was asked at age 8 "what do you want to be when you grow up?" 

I have gone through my life with the single goal of entertaining myself and hopefully, being at least a somewhat enjoyable person to those who I encountered. Usually I entertained myself with humorous and even silly observations concerning my world. Once in a while the self-entertainment has come in the form of something more philosophical than outright funny. With the absence of a meaningful career, self-entertainment has been the driving force in my life. 

I am not alone in this life situation, of course. Not many barbers or dentist receptionists had those occupations in mind for their dream job. In some ways it is too bad, though most people find meaning and purpose in their daily lives regardless of occupation. As for myself, I may not accomplish much, strictly speaking, but I have fun doing it, and that has been enough.

Mr. St. Clair And The Neighborhood Boy

One summer afternoon in 1959 when I was about 8 years old I was in a the backyard of a neighborhood kid, Charlie St. Clair. We got into a game of tag. There were bedsheets hanging from the backyard clothes line and we started chasing each other through the sheets. Charlie's mother came out and angrily shouted at us to get away from the sheets. A few minutes later, a bit perturbed, I calmly referred to Mrs. St. Clair as a "slob" to another kid. Mrs. St. Clair either overheard what I had said through an open window, or Charlie told her. I did not know exactly what a slob was. I had jokingly been called a slob earlier that day by a neighbor kid for wearing untied sneakers. 

Later that day, or perhaps a day later, I was once again in or near the St. Clair property. Mr. St. Clair came out and called me over. Not suspecting any trouble, I did as requested. Well, Mr. St. Clair hotly snagged me by the arm and pulled me into the house. He forced me down several steps leading to the basement and there ironing some clothes was Mrs. St. Clair. Mr. St. Clair then said to me, "Well, don't you have something to say to my wife?" I didn't know what he was talking about, but at that moment I was sacred to death. I remember that by the time I was there on those steps, I had wet my pants out of abject fright. When I didn't respond, Mr. St. Clair hotly asked me, "Did you or did you not call my wife a slob?" I must have said that I did. He then informed me that I was to apologize. I must have muttered out an apology. Mr. St. Clair then smiled and said, "Now, don't you feel better for saying you're sorry?" He then led me out the door and to safety. 

That was 1959. Obviously I've never forgotten it. I was a little boy who like a lot of kids, can say silly things. To this day the incident makes me angry. I'm not sure, but if the internet existed in 1975, I am not certain that I wouldn't have used the Net to look up the whereabouts of Mr. St. Clair. It probably wouldn't have been a good idea, but back in 1975 I was 24 and just might have done it. I wouldn't have physically injured the man. I probably would have done something to him similar to what he had done to me. I might have taken a photo of myself at age 8 and forced Mr. St. Clair to apologize to it.

Point of all this is, I consider myself a rational, relatively calm person. I was fairly rational in 1975. Yet I might have considered retaliation for a single incident that occured many years earlier in my childhood. Sometimes I find myself, albeit my past self, a little scary. But I also make it a point to treat little kids decently and keep in mind that they are, after all, kids. 

Today there is the internet, and for the record, Mr. St. Clair died a couple years ago, best I can determine through a half hour internet search. Mrs. St. Clair is alive and in her 80s.

Summer of Long Ago

I am 66 years old. I graduated from high school in 1969. I remember that summer of 1969 better than I remember any three month period in my life. I was out of high school and I had found full time employment as a laborer at a construction site. A friend and classmate was working at a local grocery store. A week later I had learned that he had befriended one male coworker, and three female coworkers. All were new high school grads. The guy had graduated from a more distant suburban high school, the three girls had all graduated together from yet another suburban high school, one more nearby. We became six friends who wandered through the warm summer days together, the warm summer days of 1969.

The six of us trekked to an amusement park, attended a local wrestling match featuring Bull Curry and Thunderbolt Patterson, and dined on carry-out pizza at a local park, to name just three of about a dozen activities we enjoyed that summer. I remember everything so well because it was all so new to me: pretty girls, complete with breasts and slim, smooth legs, sitting next to me, sometimes even listening to what I had to say.

Truth be told, in short order I had desires to be more than friends with one of the girls, but alas she wanted nothing to do with me aside from giggling at my jokes. I was going to have to settle for her friendship. Though a bit disappointed, I was willing to do that.

The summer came to an end as all seasons do, and most of us went off to college somewhere. I didn't but most of us did. We had not known each other very long, really, just that summer, and so at summer's end we simply went our separate ways. But I for one never forgot. I have always remembered the names, the places we went, and even some of the conversations, as inane as many of those conversations were.

A few weeks ago I decided to do an internet search for four of the other five. One of them I know to this day and he remains a friend of mine but the other four would require investigation.

What I found was a bit disturbing. Two of the girls are now deceased. One died about ten years ago, the other five years back. The other guy has passed away too. I do not know when. The one girl for whom I had deeper desires, she is still alive and living not far away. She is a grandmother.

I can still remember all six of us crammed into one car, windows down, the warm, humid air whirling around in the car. We were usually laughing but occasionally we would speak seriously of some long-range plan, or perhaps a concern for the Vietnam War, and whether any of us guys would end up over there with a rifle in his hands.

That was a long time ago. I'm glad I had that summer and all these years later, I am glad I can look back upon it. It saddens me to discover that not all of us can.