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  • And I Got Readers

    In fact, I have them on right now.

    I have been fighting that I needed them for some time. My arms are only so long, you know. But the time came. The optometrist said it was time. I didn’t want bifocals, so readers was my only option.

    I had been watching my friends over the past few years, struggle to read menus and their phones. We would laugh about getting older, but not being able to read was a problem. Then slowly over time, I watched as friend after friend would sit down at the table, take a menu, and then produce a pair of readers that rested gently on the edge of their nose. They could read the small print, while I had to guess, like deciphering the Rosetta Stone, as to what did the Chop Salad come with?

    The real issue, if I get fully honest, was that reading virtually everything was becoming a problem. Not only did I start feeling a strain on my eyes after reading for a bit, but this pain was making me hesitant to read for enjoyment. And there was no way that I was going start making the fonts larger.

    We all get older, and everything does come to an end. The joyous days of reading anything and everything unencumbered are over. This means that I will need to always wear shirts with a pocket, or I need more sports coats.

    I will not do the chain for the glasses – that is a non-starter.

  • This is What My Kid Thinks Everyone Was Like in the 90’s

    (She’s not too far off…)

    I think everyone was like this in the 60’s

  • Talking to my Dad

    I video chat with my dad every week. We occasionally text when something funny happens, or when we need to change the time that we will video chat, but video chat is the main way that we communicate with each other.

    He sits in his study; I sit in my office/bedroom. Sometimes my wife wanders in to say hello, or to join in the conversation. The kid comes in from time to time. Usually for about five or ten minutes to tell grandpa about all the things that is going on. I don’t force them to join, nor do I try to exclude them from talking to my father – it’s an open-door policy – but I especially don’t want them to feel obligated to talk to him.

    These chats are a continuation of the weekly chats I had with my mother before she passed. I mean I always called my parents on Sunday, as they did to their parents. The video chatting started when the kid was born, and Ma wanted to see her granddaughter. Who can blame her, the kid is pretty cute. Yet, in all these video chats in the past, my dad would be there, but he would hang out on the periphery of the screen. He was there, paying attention, throwing in a comment or two, but he was clearly in a supporting role.

    After my Ma passed, I made a point of wanting these chats to continue. Making sure that my Dad had someone to talk to, even if I was 1,500 miles away. (I wasn’t the only one. My brothers and sisters-in-law also made sure that he wasn’t alone, but they do live within driving distance of him.) For many reasons, it wasn’t easy at first. With so much loss and sadness, it can take some time to find your footing again, and also discover that joy can still be had in this world.

    Now, six years on, the guy doesn’t stop talking. It’s like he’s had all these conversation in him, and now he can’t wait to get them out!

    I know that I am lucky and fortunate that I am getting this time with him, to know him.

  • ODDS and ENDS: Coffee, Tea, and Cookies

    (Oh, to feel love’s sting…)

    I have loved coffee for as long as I can remember. As a kid, coffee was the key to adulthood; it’s what all grownups did in the morning – drank coffee and ate breakfast, or complained about what their day was going to be like. I can see my parents, coffee cup in hand, watching me and my brothers opening Christmas gifts. It’s what my Uncle Ron drank all the time, especially when he would visit and smoke his pipe – the only person who was allowed to smoke in our house. I got my first coffee mug on Valentine’s Day, when I was in the 6th Grade. It was a corny mug that had a heart shaped handle and said “The Luv Mug” on it. My Ma gave it to me. I was the only twelve year old who was drinking coffee and reading the paper before school. I’m not the type of person who gets a headache if they don’t have their coffee in the morning, and I am also the type of person who can drink coffee all day, and it doesn’t affect my sleep, but I am the type of person that if I don’t drink coffee in the morning then I feel like the day isn’t right.

    Over the last two years, I have started drinking tea in the afternoon. Actually, 4pm to be precise, and only from October to March. You know, the cold months around here. I don’t know why I started doing it, and it would be easy to throw my wife under the bus on this one, as she does like a peach tea from time to time. But I got a box of Black English Tea, made a cup with a little milk and sugar, and it became rather satisfying in the afternoon. I even have a specific mug that I use for my tea. Funny how before, I only viewed tea as something that one drank when they sick, like had the flu. Tea was like coffee, but not as strong, so it was more water and less caffeine, you know, what sick people need.

    I have to go to Trader Joe’s today (Woop! Woop! On 125th!) to pick up a few things for the weekend. I know I shouldn’t do it, but I will buy a bucket of cookies. I woke up this morning knowing, to my core, that I would walk into that store, and get that plastic container of chocolate-chip cookies, and eat most of them over the next two days. For no other reason than I want to. I have been good about going to the gym, and sticking to my running two miles three days a week, and I started to notice that my shirts and pants aren’t so tight, and my energy has been up, and I do feel more focused. And I am focused on eating cookies all weekend long.

  • Short Story Review: “My Camp” by Joshua Cohen

    (The short story “My Camp” by Joshua Cohen appeared in the October 21st, 2024 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Photograph by Naila Ruechel for The New Yorker

    So… What to make of “My Camp?” I guess I could say that Joshua Cohen wrote a story that I had no idea where it was going. That was refreshing. After that, I’m not sure what to think. I know I didn’t hate this story. It was a bit long; it did go on, and could have used some trimming. But, I’m just not sure…

    It started out well; lulled me into thinking this was going to be a comedic take on upstate home ownership. Then, Cohen threw a curveball, which had the story move in an altogether different direction, only to come back to the camp at the end. I’m not even sure the narrator learned or changed an any way, which normally would cause me to pan the story, but in this piece, that might have been the point?

    What I identified with was the narrator’s frustration with there not being a middle ground when it comes to October 7th, and the Gaza war. How people want the narrator to take a side, and the more pressure that is put on him, the more he digs in to not take a side. How if everyone is blindly going in one direction, you should go the opposite way. That resonated, especially in light of current events in the Mid-East.

    But I still couldn’t tell if this piece was satire, a pointed take on conviction in light of what is happening, or was this just supposed to be a joke? I would hate to think that I am clutching my pearls here, thinking it’s too soon to even remotely make any artistic comment on Gaza, as I believe one of the main reason to have art is to comment on difficult issues. Yet, wasn’t this just a story about a guy that got comfortable with scamming people so he could own a home?

    There isn’t a clear easy answer to this story, which I feel was Cohen’s point. Were people really trying to help? Does throwing money at a problem fix anything? Is greed inevitable? Is there no safety in the world and you have to take it when you get it? I could go on and on with all the questions this story brought up in me, and perhaps I should read it again. Though I don’t think that will help me find any answers. Anyway, maybe that’s just human nature – looking for answers.

    I’m open to hearing what other people think on this one. Drop a comment, let me know what you think about this story.