Take That, H.G. Wells!

Turns out time machines are real. Science fiction writers and wannabes have just been looking up the wrong warp for quick passage. I know because on Sunday I went forward to the past (so to speak).

The quick path to being a teenager again is to meet with someone you haven’t seen since you were 16. Magically, no one is gray or wrinkled; education, years of working, parenting and even pain are gone. I was back in someone’s bedroom, ogling movie stars and popular singers, gossiping about everyone and day dreaming about a future that was still far off.

We were nerds, geeks, the out-crowd: writers, math and science whizzes, and politicians. We never quite figured out the latest styles—or just didn’t care. We formed our own cliquish groups—sort of anti-groups. One friend formed a branch of a NY Deejay’s fan club—the “Cousin Brucie” club (Bruce Morrow, you can still find him on Facebook). While girls clubs with matching sweaters were the rage, we cut out felt letters and glued them to white shirts (we called ourselves “The Mint Dreams”—have no idea why). That beginning of adulthood set the stage for many, definitely me, to always choose the path less traveled.

“Sweet 16” parties were mandatory when I was in high school—but only for girls. The parents would spring for a lunch in a fancy restaurant and the birthday girl would wear a corsage made of sugar lumps (I’m pretty sure a lot of those girls now wear red hats). My “Sweet 16” party was at the home of a friend of my mother’s—there were boys, music and dancing and I’m pretty sure a good time was had by all (except me—my crush spent the entire night with one of my girlfriends). I have the pictures to prove it.

The friend I met on Sunday got quite a shock in looking at one of those pictures; her hair had been teased out to about a foot in all directions with a prim little bow right in the center. Oh, my, the hair of the early 60s! One notable style comment: the girls all wore dresses, the boys wore jackets and ties—no one would dare question that etiquette rule!

Memory being what it is at this age, I doubt our time machine could take us further back than this. It must be different when you still see people you grew up on a regular basis—it’s not a race car drive back, but a slow stroll through the years; a turning of pages instead of walking into an Imax theater screen. Direct confrontation with the past leads directly to seeing the present and just maybe, a glimpse of the future. I think I like it this way

Going IncogNegro

No, I am not a "Negro" or even slightly black in skin color. My origins are eastern Europe, where, except for "Black Russians" (which does not refer to skin color) there is limited obvious racial diversity. Lamar's ethnic origins are most likely Germanic. When we attend the annual Martin Luther King Jr. Day banquet, we are a clear minority.

I look around the room, however, and see a lot of racial diversity. Skin colors are a range of almost white to ebony. Facial features can be similar to mine or distinctly African. White Americans have either never learned, or forgotten, that racial identity is more than skin color. That being said, there is no doubt that our presence there is noted and probably questioned. The people there who know us, our friends, don't think that way--but of course, not everyone is our friend. We are not churchgoers (I am Jewish), which probably sets us more apart than race. We are not natives of Waycross (a "black mark" for both the white and black residents).

We are there because we believe in what Martin Luther King Jr. stood for. If you don't remember, that would be racial equality, harmony, and non-violence. He was an activist, a philosopher and ultimately a martyr. The speaker's message last night was exactly that. The Rev. Frances V. Mills spoke of the complacency of the middle class attendees and the need to continue to work towards the dreams of Rev. King. She spoke of racial unity to an all-black audience (except for us of course) and was greeted with loud amens. She generated excitement among the usually reserved lawyers, doctors, officials and business people in the audience.

For my taste, it was too loud, too long, and too much Jesus. In spite of that, her message resonated strongly to me. She asked people who were willing to make a commitment to change this year stand and be counted; many did. I believe I have already made this commitment in my own way, so I did not stand. This year, I fervently hope to see more of those who did stand. I also have a dream: next year's banquet will fill the room to overflowing with a variety of racial characteristics, including more than two Caucasians.

Fountain of Youth, Sewer of Age

Over the hill, senior citizen, golden ager, primetimer--or just past the sell-by date.  Our society loves euphemisms, especially for less than desirable statuses.  Like dead, for example:  expired, passed away, or deceased (I prefer "life challenged" myself). 

I call myself old most of the time.  Since that is one of those less desirable statuses, it opens the door for the other person to say "My goodness, you're not old!".  Or, "Your about my age, aren't you?"  Which goes over very well with me if that person is about 20 years younger.  I accept flattery with no shame.  But, honestly, why should there be anything negative about aging?  Yes, it's corny, but what's the alternative?

There are negative qualities we possess that we can change: weight, hair color, behavior, and many aspects of our health.  I would have said gender, but that is also changeable now.  What we still can't change is race (or those characteristics that we call "race") and the aging processes of our body.  Other than is fantasy or science fiction, we are going to age.  How we age is another matter.  Even that is at least partly genetics as well.  I know a 100-year old man right here in town who looks, acts and moves like someone 40 or 50 years younger. 

Interviewers always ask the 100+ group "What is your secret to living such a long life?"  I'm convinced no such thing exists.  The only commonalities researchers have found is the general tendency to maintain social ties and be physically and mentally active.  Not quite enough to go on for, say, a prescription for eternal life.

But--and it's a big one--there is such wide variation in how people age, you might as well give it a shot, right?  I think most people are like me and really don't consciously think of themselves as old (at least until I look in the magnifying mirror).  The numbers seem meaningless.  I remember things that happened 30, 40, 50 years ago and it really doesn't register.  Sometimes I stand outside myself and try to imagine how people perceive me.  As an old doddering fool?  As someone who has to be put up with?  I think I expected a tad more respect for my age and wisdom.  Sometimes people don't let me carry heavy objects, or insist that I sit.  I can do without that. I refuse to look decrepit.

In the meantime I plan to cultivate my aging persona as one of wisdom and power.  I will enjoy all the senior discounts I am offered.  In my own head, it's like a game--ha, ha, they don't know who I really am.  Who I really am is the same person I have always been.
 

Lying Down With Dogs

I've been dreaming of dogs lately.  Mostly puppies, with a few kittens thrown in.  Dead puppies, puppies and kittens in cages--nightmares, really.  The reasons for these dreams are no mystery.  I have dogs, I've lost a couple, and I have a new rescue.  I also completely blame my two Facebook friends who incessantly post pictures of animals in shelters needing rescue.  That's the primary reason we now have Murphy.  I believe in saving lives--but just like with people, you can't save them all.

I think of myself as an animal lover since birth, but my mother always told me I was afraid of animals in my early years, wouldn't even look at them during a trip to the zoo.  I don't remember that time.  My memory begins with wanting pets and taking care of strays. We lived in lower income neighborhoods in Brooklyn and I would go outside, call "psspsspss" and cats would come running from all directions.  I'm pretty sure I learned how to do this from my mother.  We adopted two dogs, but both came to tragic ends (which in the interest of avoiding more nightmares, I will not detail here).  I contented myself with the cats.  They were always a part of our family.  After my mother's death, my father tried to put up with the remaining cat but eventually turned it over to a no-kill shelter.  This is one reason animals end up in shelters; an elderly person with diminished ability just can't care for it.

Throught much of my life I harbored a fantasy of having enough space to keep all animals I ever wanted.  I primarily live in the country now, 12 miles from town, so this dream can have reality.  I am thrilled to have doggie doors so they can also have their space and freedom.  Of course, the reality is the more animals you have, the more money you spend.  When I bring a new family member home, I plan on it being forever.  Therefore, they also require time, attention, and medical maintenance.  I once came close to adopting out a particularly annoying dog, but when it came right down to it, I knew there wasn't anyone else out there worthy of parenting him. 

In this part of the world, it seems that many people view their animals as possessions, and not very valuable ones at that.  I can vouch for the fact that there will never be a shortage of black labs.  Very few people bother to spay and neuter; they throw out a bag of Jim Dandy (sometimes even opening it first) and close the door.  Some consider themselves responsible if they keep them on chains or in an outdoor cage.  Ask any local vet about some of the home grown cures people try to cure parasites (burnt motor oil, turpentine among others).  Not trying to label all southerners--but if you're reading this, you're probably not one of them. 

I remember reading about the singer/actress Doris Day having her own "dog ranch" and being devoting to rescuing as many as she could.  I'm pretty sure Doris was pretty rich by then and had a lot of people working for her to clean up after them.  For now, I'll keep my three and do whatever I can to promote the cause (well, maybe a little more than that).