Say It Again

If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times. And I suspect that my wife secretly rues the fact that she's heard it a thousand times. Maybe more.

Speaking of facts, that's a fact of life. It's a common – perhaps universal – “malady” that increases with age. And it's not a disease, but a reflection of the fact that humans, like other forms of life, are predictable.

But first, let me take a quick digression into “habit.” We're all, as the cliché says, its “creatures.” There are many acts we perform without thought. Whether it's nail-biting, smoking, grabbing the banister when climbing or descending stairs, or sitting in a particular chair in the living room; whether it's self-imposed or taught by others – like parents, for example – habits are situational responses which aren't accompanied by conscious thought or decision making. You just do them at the appropriate time.

In this instance I'm referring to is the way we verbally interact. And in many situations we do so based on a kind of habit – an automatic response to some verbal (or other) stimulus. Social occasions follow certain highly superficial rituals. They begin with an introduction and early “ice breakers” to get the conversation started. You know they're coming, and the responses – at least to the initial inquiries – are factual and forgettable. For the most part they're thought-out, although they often don't require much thought. They're not particularly annoying to those around you, because they tend to be brief and factual. “I come from Sheboygan.” “It's in Wisconsin, on Lake Michigan.” “Chicago? About 140 miles south.”

So far so good. But then you hear yourself singing Mention my name in Sheboygan It's the greatest little town in the world. (For those who don't know, it's a song from 1947.) It's not been asked of you, and you didn't think about it, but it always seems to come out when you're discussing the place in which you grew up. Perhaps it started as an affectation, a “clever” way of hiding your anxiety. But now it's automatic – virtually Pavlovian. The circumstances of the discussion of your home town are irrelevant. Somehow or other you begin singing. And your spouse, standing next to you, has heard it so many times before.

Or someone mentions employment in a widget factory, and the work there. “That reminds me of the time ...” and a long, boring story follows. It may even be true. But the words never vary. You've told that story too many times already and you/re not going to change it now. It's easier than actually participating in the conversation, so when you realize that you're in the midst of “an oft-told tale” you simply continue. If it's a shared memory some corrections may follow, but they won't be included the next time you reprise it. You'll do it the same way.

Perhaps you see or hear something that brings back a memory and you launch into the same thing you've said so many times when facing the same stimulus. It may not be a conscious act, but the unconscious association is likely to initiate a fixed and predictable response. Much to the dismay of anyone around.

Such personal responses and stories inhabit all of us. Each of us has a stock of stock stories or comments that anyone who has heard them several times can recite for us. Even the trigger for the telling is apparent to that “anyone,” who knows, before you start, what your reply will be. (“Not again. Can't you say something different? I'm gonna' get a drink. Maybe I'll get drunk.”)

There's another variety of “normal” repetitive speech, one usually saved for your children. “Clean up your room!” “Don't pick your nose.” Turn off the TV and no texting either. It's bedtime.” “If I've told you once I've told you a thousand times (and that's not always hyperbole).” But it's different. It's more a command than a response, and so it will probably be ignored by your spouse. (Often by your child as well.)

Last week I discussed repetitive speech which was pathological and often condemned (rightly or wrongly) by society as requiring therapy. Annoying as the repetition of smart remarks and anecdotes may be, it's normal. And as we get older we'll wind up hearing them more and more often. So if you want to get older, and want your spouse to do so as well, turn down your hearing aid or just don't pay attention. (But if don't turn it down and you pay attention I hope you tell and hear such stories for many years to come.)

But the best strategy is to avoid cocktail parties and any contact with people.

That's my approach.






February 20, 2017

Changing Times

Time flies when you're having fun. At least that's what they say. Time is relative. They say that too.

I guess they're true. Both of the statements. The first by the average citizen and the second by the physicists among us.

And time is adjustable. My watch told me that. Not simply that my watch is adjustable, but that it clearly has its own view of time – a view that goes beyond the standard recording and reporting of the moment's passage.

My watch stops from time to time. The battery's fine but the watch has decided that things are going too quickly. And it sometimes falls behind what the other timepieces say. It's in no rush. At other times it moves in what most of us would consider a more normal manner.

My watch is a metaphor. Times are moving too quickly. Science, especially electronic technology, is surpassing our ability to take it all in and to understand how it's to be used and why it is necessary – apart from its part in making more money for the inventors and the manufacturers. That's not necessarily a bad thing, but it's an awful strain on our senses and abilities. And on the law. New devices weren't considered when most of them were written, and the rules concerning their use weren't formulated. It boils down to the sad truth that we can't keep up, so it's better to slow down. But we don't.

Other areas of science are also moving forward rapidly. Medical diagnostic tools and therapies are coming on the scene and are certainly helpful, but they're expensive. And the debate about the use of limited resources is causing ethical problems never considered in the past. It's better to slow down and catch our breath. My watch does that. But ethicists (often self-styled as such) move forward rapidly – often with conflicting views. Take your choice. It doesn't matter anyway. What will be will be. The ethicists will tell you you're morally wrong if you disagree with them. And your watch will do the same choose to if you pay it no mind.

Additionally, changing quickly as well are language, social relationships, our images of what (and who) is around us, politics, competitors in sports events and business (and everything else) among other things. We live in fast-moving times. And, notwithstanding what I've said about it, my watch also moves too fast at times. There are certain things I'm used to doing and they seem to take longer than they used to. I've decided that it's because my watch is recording time faster than it used to. It can't be because I'm slowing down. That's a foolish idea.

As I said, time is relative. And its velocity seems proportional to age. When your age is low the days move slowly. As you age, time speeds up. And when you're near the end of the cycle the hours go by too quickly (possibly, in part, because you're nodding off too much). The better reaction is to focus on what you're doing and leave your watch to its own devices (and its own device). There's nothing you can do about it anyway. I know that because it's what the physicists say. And they have all the time in the world to ponder the universe.

August 3, 2017

But Who's Counting?

I'm getting old. I know that. It happens, and there's nothing I can do about it except lie back and enjoy it. Of course I never lie.

I've been thinking about the inevitable for a while now, but also about the time that precedes it – the process of getting older. In fact that's probably the reason I write these essays: to record my thoughts while I can still remember them. Not that anyone really cares apart from me. But it gives me the chance work out my ideas as they come to me, and, fortunately, that process continues.

There's an old joke: The second thing to go is your memory. I can't remember the first.

Actually – sadly – it's not a joke. One of the (many) costs of aging is memory loss – especially short-term memory.ⁱ Fortunately for me since it doesn't seem to be associated with any form of dementia so it's little more than a minor inconvenience. I have pen and paper in my pocket at most times and can note whatever crosses my mind, though there are times when I can't remember what I wanted to say about something I jotted down, or I can't read my own handwriting. That doesn't matter all that much, however, because I have more that I can work with than I can work with. Sooner or later I'll have the same thought that stymied me before and I'll write it down a little differently, and it will make sense when I go over my bits of paper. And, of course, I won't remember that I wrote it before. But who cares?

It's your problem too though. I've probably written all this before and I'm likely to do so again. Ditto with my essays. I know I repeat myself. Since I don't go back, however, it doesn't matter all that much. To me, at least. Even the subjects of my efforts are repetitious, although there are some variations that take place from time to time. For example, politicians are politicians, but they make different stupid errors every now and then, and I'm always eager to write about (someone else's) stupidity. Mostly, though, it's the same old thing. There's nothing new under the sun. (I know I've said that before, and King Solomon said it before me.) The more things remain the same, the more they remain the same. Same with my thoughts. I'm too old to change now.

There are additional costs to aging, but I won't go into them here. TMI. And I'll try to avoid them elsewhere as well. But I do want to mention some of the benefits – though if my (failing) memory serves me right I think I've done so before. 

And there are some positives. I'm loath to reject any offers of senior citizen discounts. But I've gotten to the point of buying (low-priced) items without comparison shopping to find the best price. Nor do I hesitate to throw out what I don't need. I certainly won't need it in the future. If my kids inherit a little less that's OK. They'll understand.

From an intellectual point of view, age brings wisdom – if I remember correctly. Of course the young don't necessarily appreciate that wisdom. Nor do they understand the more realistic views of older people (views which tend to be more conservative than theirs). Like most of the young they tend to be more idealistic and liberal. I know. I used to be an optimist like them. However people have cured me of that Pollyannaish prejudice. I know better now.

But from a more personal angle, I note that people are more solicitous. They're always asking me how I feel. (I suspect that it's simply courtesy, and they don't really care. It's more reasonable to assume they're surprised that I'm still alive.) Every now and then someone offers me a seat on the subway, or a chair when we're in a crowded room. (Unfortunately it's only occasional. It used to be more common. People are less courteous and considerate than when I was young. Respect for elders was more evident then. That I remember.) And, even though it only happens occasionally, someone will offer me help, including carrying something for me. I usually decline (it's called “denial”) but I do notice. In addition, if I leave others to take a nap, it's understood. Or if I leave a party early. I hate parties, so it's a good ploy.

Another advantage is that (apart from death) I have less fear of the future. I can be cantankerous (my usual attitude) or generally disagreeable without anyone fighting back and without anticipating any negative consequences. I can pretend I don't hear when I want to ignore someone. And I can be “too weak” to do what I don't want to do. No one will hold it against me.

And I have memories. Lots of them. My long-term memory remains despite all my complaints. So there are compensations. I'd rather be young, but that's not an option. You play the hand you have.

I   For example, I thought of something this morning that I wanted to “google,” but I can't     remember now what it was. Perhaps I'll think of it later.  I do remember, however, that I promised at some time in the past, to avoid these notes, so there probably won't be any more.  In the meantime, hard cheese.

Letting Go

Time for another jaunt through pop psychology about which I know very little (translation: I know nothing). Mom, of course, is welcome to read this as well. (Actually I really don't care if no one reads this. I think I'm writing it for myself.)

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I never got a gold watch. I retired from three different institutions (at four different times – but that's another story) and I'm relieved that I did, but I never got a gold watch. One of those places, the Radiology Department of a medical school hospital, gave me a university chair (a physical chair, not an appointment) with a logo and a plaque. Good enough – though a rocker would have been more fitting than the regular type. I didn't like the other places all that much anyway.

But I did like the positions in which I served. I felt useful and responsible. So when I left I felt useless and not responsible (not irresponsible, but not responsible). At least in terms of those two hospitals. And if I were to go back now I doubt that anyone would recognize me. (That's OK. I know who I am.) All my accomplishments – and they weren't insignificant – would have been forgotten. They would simply be the way things have always been. From their perspective I'd be nobody. And the departments I headed would have the imprints of their current directors.

Times change for individuals as they do for institutions and societies, and self-image changes as well. I'm retired now, and my time is my own (except for doing what my wife tells me to do). I have no responsibilities. But there is a downside as well, the negative part of what goes with the territory. I don't simply mean that I'm getting older. That's true, and it has its downside as well, however I'm referring to something else. I've become nobody. Sure I take out the garbage and bring in the newspapers – I still carry out the activities of daily living – but, lacking a schedule and responsibilities, I'm adrift. Others get the credit or blame for all the things I used to do. The people I see and know greet me, but think of me as an old man with nothing in particular to do. And I think of myself in the same way.

One of the hardest things for an individual to do is to give up his view of himself. And it's hard for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is that it requires self-examination. It requires one to reform his self-image into one more suitable for his new situation. He needs to (please forgive the cant – I don't like it either) reinvent himself. The recognition of the new image is integral to its acceptance. But it can't just be an image. It must be reality. It is reality.

That new reality itself, however, must also be understood and accepted. The classic example when I was young was the anxious mother bidding her “baby” farewell at the kindergarten door. (Now it's preschool and, with gender and family changes, it's one of the “partners” – assuming there's more than one – of one or more genders.) The farewell was accompanied by tears and reticence by both parties although the child usually recovered quickly.

The mother had to accept the idea that her child could survive without her; she had to let go and change her self-image and identity to that of service-provider for when the child came home, but she was no longer the center of her darling's universe. The same thing had happened when there was a baby-sitter. Tears from the child until the door closed, but Mom didn't think about it so much because when she came home she could still picture herself as the only one her child really cared about.

But as the years go by and our children grow up we become more of a commodity for them – provider of dinner or a car, perhaps the “Bank of Dad (or Mom)” – and often an embarrassment. There is college and the empty nest. That happens slowly, and we can usually accommodate as the years go by, but that doesn't prevent the sadness (along with happiness for them) as they eventually establish families of their own. Our lives have changed. We have to grow up as well, and accept the idea that our children are no longer ours. We're saddened both by their maturing and by our own aging. We have lost our youth. We're no longer relevant. It's time for a mid-life crisis, if we haven't already had one.

Life cycles do that. When we're young we're happy to let go of who we were in favor of what we want to become, but as we get older it's more giving than getting. That's even the case in our “outside” lives – lives beyond home and work. I used to set the tables for events at my synagogue. I'd get a telephone call or other message that an event was coming up and I had to prepare for a particular number of people on a specific day. It was a given that the job would get done. It wasn't a critical responsibility but it was mine. And everybody knew it. I don't get called anymore. Others see it as not wanting to burden me, but I see it as their perception that I'm too old (or infirm, or whatever) to have the responsibility. I'm grateful for their concern, however it seems to be a signal to me – they'll never ask again and I'd better get used to that fact. It's my new reality. “The old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be.” Ditto the stallion – the old geezer. Enough is enough. He's over the hill.

But, as Yogi Berra said, “It ain't over 'til it's over” (or as Dan Cook restated it, “The opera ain't over till the fat lady sings”) and the changes need not be liked, only accepted. New goals must be set so there will be new achievements that can be sought. For many the need for purpose may be attained through volunteerism; whether it takes place in a soup kitchen, a social service organization, or some other project it gives the participant something to hold on to. It's a new piece of his identity. He has self-worth – the feeling that he's helping others. He's somebody. He's important. He has a purpose in life. Or, as Monty Python put it, he's “not dead yet.” (That time will come, and then my children will have to let go.)

But now, for me, the goal is writing, providing me with a pulpit from which to bully. I have definite opinions. They're all correct and I want to preserve them for posterity. Nobody may ever read them, but I have the opportunity to speak the Truth, and that gives me some purpose. That and taking out the garbage.

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From Anu Garg's "A Word A Day" -- THOUGHT FOR TODAY:

Here is the test to find whether your mission on earth is finished: If you're alive, it isn't. -Richard Bach, writer (b. 23 Jun 1936)

Below The Beloit

 

I'm feeling old today. The Class of 2015 of Beloit (Wisconsin) College was graduated recently – not a particularly mind-boggling piece of information. Of greater consequence, however, is the fact that when each class begins there, the school publishes a “Mindset List” (https://www.beloit.edu/mindset/previouslists/2015/) designed to inform the reader of the perspectives of the members of the class. The list, unfortunately, told me far more than I really wanted to know. It hit me where I hurt. I'll impart some of the intelligence from that list, which is designed to describe the world since they were born – 1993 on average.

Andre the Giant, River Phoenix, Frank Zappa, Arthur Ashe and the Commodore 64 have always been dead.

1. There has always been an Internet ramp onto the information highway.

2. States and Velcro parents have always been requiring that they wear their bike helmets.

3. The only significant labor disputes in their lifetimes have been in major league sports.

4. There have nearly always been at least two women on the Supreme Court, and women have always commanded U.S. Navy ships.

5. Amazon has never been just a river in South America.

6. Refer to LBJ, and they might assume you're talking about LeBron James.

7. The Communist Party has never been the official political party in Russia.

8. Women have always been kissing women on television.

9. Sears has never sold anything out of a Big Book that could also serve as a doorstop.

10. Public schools have always made space available for advertising.

11. Refugees and prisoners have always been housed by the U.S. government at Guantanamo.

The facts I've listed were extracted from a 75 item list (the numbers were inserted by my word processor and aren't those of the original document), and were the ones that most reminded me of how much I've aged. When I was young (as if you care) the world was different. The facts on the list weren't simply wrong – some of them were unimaginable. I won't describe why on a point by point basis, but in the middle of the last century life was different. I'm not suggesting that life was better then, only that it was different. The idea of computers, the internet, and all that has developed out of it were purely science fiction then.

Of course not all the changes are for the better, but we've learned to live with them. One of the most surprising things to me is that I'm surprised. The alterations have been sequential and orderly, like most changes. And I've observed them with interest as they have occurred. For the most part they were incremental (for example, there were threats of a campus riot when tuition at my college was raised from $750 a year to $850 – it's a lot higher now) and, however jarring, not entirely unexpected. Looking at them now, compressing long sequences into single changes, emphasizes those changes. The nickel Hershey bar of my childhood now costs a dollar. And it's smaller.

But I'd better simply accept reality and suck it up (language has changed too, though mine is probably well out of date). It's not Beloit's fault that the years are passing. I can't wait until the Class of 2015 is my age and reading the list current at that time. Unfortunately, I'll probably be long gone. Not only is the world changing, but I am.

Next episode: “F_g=Gm₁m₂/d^2” – A Weighty Issue

As Luck Would Have It

I ache. My hands, arms, and shoulders hurt. My back hurts. I'm slower than I used to be. I wake up a lot during the night and need naps during the day. It's my new normal. I'm getting older. And I'm too old to die young.

I'm lucky. I'm getting older. Not everyone is so fortunate. And I do consider it fortunate. As the saying goes, “Consider the alternative.” Although, admittedly, some people would prefer that alternative, it's not for me. That's probably because for all my complaining I'm basically in good health. When I got up this morning (and, in fact, I did get up this morningⁱ), I began the same daily activities as every other day; but I cannot imagine not doing so. The entire concept of death completely eludes me. And, to be perfectly honest, it frightens me. Not that I anticipate punishment, or Hell, or anything like that, but I'll deal with that issue later.

First let me note that I'm still alive. That didn't have to be the case. I survived an airplane accident a little over forty-six years ago. I was learning how to fly at the time (I later got a private pilot's license) and I had really screwed up.ⁱⁱ Fortunately the plane landed upside down in some trees and it never hit the ground.ⁱⁱⁱ There were some broken bones as well as cuts and bruises, and a very injured ego, but I was alive. All I could conclude – apart from the fact that I still had a lot to learn – was that there was something I had been created to do, even if I didn't know what it was. And I hadn't done it yet.

The same lesson was driven home a couple of years ago when I passed out while driving^iv on an interstate. There was the same result as with the plane – the car was totaled but I came out of the experience with little more than embarrassment. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. I guess I haven't yet accomplished what's expected of me, and I hope I don't for at least another fifty years or so.^v Maybe forever.

But that's because I find that being old isn't as bad as I expected. The DNA with which I was born has not inflicted any horrible disability on me, and I've not suffered any noticeable diseases secondary to subsequent mutations. Admittedly, the Golden Years aren't what they used to be. When they were far off in the distance they could be seen clearly as a time to kick up your heels with no responsibilities, only leisure time. Now I find that all the duffers curse them. Not me, though. I'm in reasonably good health and all systems are go. (Well, actually, they're not all always go, but I'll omit further discussion of that point.) I have the UFDs^vi and I need larger print and better light when reading. Indeed. The glass is more than half full.

Clearly, there's a lot to say that's positive about the current period of my life. Since I'm retired every day is a day off,^vii and because my hair (what little I have) is white sometimes people offer me a seat (but usually not – times have changed.). I can catch up on the things I put off until retirement, but retirement makes days off meaningless.^viii I can plead physical weakness to get out of work at home. And if I forget something, or claim I forgot, I have an excuse.^ix

On the other hand, there's a down side to the idea that times change. These are (or will be) the “good old days” for today's youth. That's depressing. To think that some of the “music” we hear now will be revered in the future. And it will be even worse then. Gimme a break.

But I've been dancing around the subject long enough. However I may wish to put it off, death will inevitably come. I loudly proclaim my intent to live forever, but I don't take myself any more seriously than those who hear me. They smile, but I doubt that they think any further on the subject. By and large they're younger than I, and they have other concerns at the moment. They'll get around to it in good time.^x

As I noted, I don't fear any particular retribution I might incur because of the acts I've committed. I've done my best to follow the rules, both the secular and the religious ones. I sometimes fail – we all do – but I try. I even wait for the light to turn green before I cross the street. Still I anticipate and I dread what I consider the ultimate destiny. Let me explain.

Like so many before me I've tried to imagine the possible scenarios I face and evaluate them. I'll mention a few. I'm not so arrogant as to believe that there aren't many more, including whatever will actually happen. Many constructs are based on the various cultures and religions of the world. This, however, is the best I can do – and it's not too promising.

First, of course, is the “Family Circus” model – Grandpa, who interacts happily with all the others who have “passed,” is seen standing on the cloud looking down on those he loves – kvelling^xi over their accomplishments. Everything is divine. “He” (actually all the dead) continues in his awareness of all that's happening to those he knows and loves.^xii,xiii But with family life here in such disarray, it's not clear where his attention will be turned. And if life wasn't so great, it's similarly questionable whether he'll derive any pleasure at all from the experience.

Perhaps we'll be involved in the Heaven/Hell, reward/punishment script. It's somewhat more complex than that of “Family Circus” but sort of related. It may require the listing of our virtues and sins, and review by a heavenly court. In the end, there will be judgment of each of us with a fate based on the balance of our acts. Our focus will be on what happens to us. As we enjoy/endure the world to come, we'll have no interest in the world we left.

In the reward/punishment scheme, my religion, Judaism, posits that the worthy ones will sit in paradise and learn with the sages of the past. Learning is the ultimate reward, and it brings us closer to G-d. Still, this model has problems. Learning is an occupation of men, and I don't know what would represent paradise for women. Or for those who died in infancy or childhood before establishing enough of a record on which to be judged. Perhaps they contain “recycled” souls, and they'll be judged on actions during one or more of their previous incarnations.^xiv Who knows?

The most frightening of all the ideas is the most straightforward. Death is the end. “That's all there is. There isn't any more.”^xv It's eternal nothingness. When you say “goodbye” to everyone it's really goodbye.^xvi That's the scientific answer. It's all over and you never know it.

With that in mind, I think I'll go back to my plan to live forever. Maybe I'll be lucky enough to achieve it. I think there's still something I have to do. I just don't know what it is.

Next episode: “Niggers Ain't So Bad" -- There's got to be a better way to say it.

I       At least that's the case at the time of this writing.

ii       The silver lining was that I was alone, so no one witnessed my fall from grace and no one was injured by my incompetence.

iii      Nonetheless it was totaled, even if I wasn't.

iv       Extensive medical tests afterward demonstrated no problem. I can only conclude that I fell asleep while driving, even though I wasn't tired. In any event, I have driven a lot since with no incident.

v        Even though I don't know what that is.

vi      Usual Fogey Diseases. When I was young all us kids had the “usual childhood diseases” – measles, mumps, chicken pox, etc. (in truth, I didn't have chicken pox until my early twenties). They were, simply, what was expected. Indeed, parents intentionally had their children exposed to them in order to take the guesswork out of illness.

vii       Of course that means that I don't get vacations, but I have plenty of time to nap.

viii      But I can shoot my mouth off. No consequences and no fear. No one can fire me and, thank G-d, my wife loves me.

ix       And, when it serves my purposes, I can plead poverty and a speak of the limitations of a fixed income.

x        Or, perhaps, as Sir Humphrey Appleby in “Yes, Minister” put it, “In the fullness of time.” That was his way of saying “Never.”

xi        I'm not sure the word is ethnically appropriate, but it's the most descriptive I can imagine.

xii     An extended version would have him aware of everything happening everywhere. The media in paradise would be much more complete and objective than the ones we have here.

xiii     There's a problem, however, with this view and some of the others. Tradition teaches us that we won't know each other. So we won't know our friends and family – whether they're alive or dead. We won't be looking down on them, and we'll be unaware of when they're looking up at us. How we'll recognize the sages with whom we learn I'm not certain (v.i.).

xiv    The concept of multiple incarnations of individual souls brings added complexity to the “Family Circus” idea. If the souls have been around several times, in whom will they be interested as they watch from their cloud? And with whom will they cavort up there?

xv       That was a line in the play “Sunday” (1904-1905), said by Ethel Barrymore. She also used it to end curtain calls.

xvi      Of course that's true with some of the other models as well.

Time Out

Today is January 12^th (2015). I just realized that the essay I wrote for February 15^th is listed by Blogspot as the 300^th that I've written, so I thought I'd interrupt the regular flow and take a look at where I stand.ⁱ Actually the number may turn out to be a little higher if I throw in any extra essays in the next few weeks because of breaking news, but the purpose of this reassessment will remain the same.

I've looked at some of the previous efforts and one thing is obvious – I repeat myself. I know I've delivered that message before, but it's worth repeating. I've also explained why the repetition comes about, so I won't belabor that issue – only warn you that it's certain to happen again.ⁱⁱ That's fine, though. I spent much of my life teaching and one thing that's clear is that if something is worth saying, it's worth repeating.ⁱⁱⁱ And with some students it's especially necessary to do so, over and over. So I hope you'll forgive me if I restate some of the points I've made before, but if you don't forgive me I can live with it.

The world is changing. Rapidly. And the change constitutes a challenge. On a content level, the new developments that appear daily provide a lot of grist for me. Blogs, themselves, are a product of the computer era, so I started with that kind of technology, but since I began this series we have seen the explosion of the social media and the propagation of hand-held devices.^iv Needless to say,^v I'm appalled by the trends. One of the biggest problems of modern society is that there is too much communication. I have an old hand-me-down “flip phone” which my wife gave me after she got a new one. She makes me take it with me when I go on a long car trip. It's there, in my glove compartment, so that I'll be able to call for help if I should need it. I take it with me in order to maintain family peace, but I'm not sure I'd know how to use it if that ever became an issue.

Of course my antipathy makes it virtually certain that I'll never make a call while driving, and if someone called me^vi I wouldn't know how to answer, so there's little likelihood that I'd even bother trying. I'll certainly never text – whether or not I'm driving. The phone is old and neither it, nor I, has the ability to do so. If it were so equipped, and if it had “apps,” I wouldn't even take it with me for emergencies. I'd be too intimidated.

I'm a remnant of the past. I remember the maps that were available free at all gas stations when I was growing up. Spread out in front of me I could see where I had been and where I was going, and have the pleasure of planning a trip that included all the places I wanted to see.^vii Ridiculously priced atlases then became available but they're virtually gone from the market, having been replaced by GPS's. With the cost of those devices and the telephone/satellite systems needed for updating and for reports of accidents and construction and the ways around them there's no end to the costs, added to the waste of time that these devices provide.^viii In addition, it's hard to ignore the distraction of the screen, the annoying back-seat-driver voice coming from it, and the certain knowledge that “they” always know where I am.

Politics and the state of the world are also much more complicated than when I was young. As useless as they were, the fire drills and “duck and cover” exercises gave us the feeling^ix that we had some control over our lives and fates. Now we leave that all to the government and we complain about the way they do it. We're not responsible for anything now – whatever goes wrong is someone else's fault.

Our general culture is also deteriorating rapidly. Television reflects it, but our fellow citizens, those who claim to be not responsible – thus those who are irresponsible – are dictating what we see. Sex of all varieties is one of the driving forces. And what is portrayed on the 60 inch screen illustrates the fantasy lives we should all be leading. The “reality” shows let us see what we're supposed to believe is really happening all around us. At least the advertisers benefit from all of this.

These are some of the subjects I've been thinking about over recent years. As well as politics, religion, aging, and all of the other things that control our lives. As I get older, and as conditions around me change, my views of all of these subjects evolve. So when they do, or when I think of something I shoulda said last time, I have a subject for a new essay. It's not important that I've visited the issue before. There's something else I want to say. Perhaps it's not original,^x but I need to incorporate it into my own formulation of whatever the subject is. Which means that I write about it again. As well as some subjects that are different. (Actually I'll mention some of those subjects next week in “Nota Bene 3” – my list keeps getting longer. “Ice Breaker,” originally scheduled for today, will appear the following week.)

But none of that matters. If you haven't read them before, the chances that you'll catch up with the 300 are small. It will take ten months if you read one each day. But if you do, start at the beginning and you'll see how my thoughts, and style (what little there is), progress. You'll agree that even though I'm not a Member of Congress^xi and even though I'm not an idiot^xii I repeat myself.^xiii Ever the twain shall meet.

I        Sit.

ii       Actually it will be here today. I lied. I will belabor it.

iii      Indeed, the repetition is a necessary component of the teaching process.

iv       “Progress” related to the equipment rather than the content.

v        But I'll say it anyway.

vi      It hasn't happened yet and there's no reason to anticipate that it will in the future.

vii     Folding up the map when I was done was nearly impossible, but trying was a lot of fun.

viii    I save time by following the directions my wife gives me. They're usually more accurate than the ones that the disembodied voice gives, and they're usually better tailored to the way I understand instructions.

ix       It was wrong but we didn't know that.

x        And it can't be denied that there is nothing new under the sun.

xi       Objective fact.

xii      That's my view, which, as I've often stressed, is true.

xiii    “Suppose you were an idiot. And suppose you were a member of Congress. But I repeat myself.” – Mark Twain, a Biography

Thanks For The Memory (footnote i)

As I recall, I've spoken on the subject of memory in the past, although I can't remember very much about what I said.ⁱⁱ As far as I remember, however, I mentioned the idea mostly in passing, and this time I'd like to focus on some aspects that I find interesting and intriguing.

We live in an age when the need for memory is becoming less and less important. (More critical very often is the inability to forget – or the inability to have others forget.ⁱⁱⁱ) With internet searches, we can find out much more than we were ever able to remember when it was necessary to either know it ourselves or to go to the library to learn it, and we can access the information far more quickly than before. And it's no longer necessary to remember the multiplication tables or more complex mathematical formulas. As long as your computer is working, you can find out almost anything you need to know. You can even see pictures of it.^iv

And notwithstanding Santayana and the others who have voiced similar concerns, there isn't even any need to know history. It's all on line. You don't have to remember the Maine, the Alamo, Pearl Harbor, or even 9/11. A few clicks of your mouse and you'll have more information about those events than you could possibly remember. That kind of ability is no longer of importance. Don't waste your neurons and synapses on them. Memory and history are things of the past.

Yet we are fixated on memory. We used to be happy when we could teach some mice to run through a maze, and we offered them rewards for doing so. But we've gone well beyond that now, and beyond Pavlovian responses as well. We can now pick memory apart – we can identify its pieces. Long-term and short-term memory used to be the main categories that we considered, but now we deal with working memory, episodic memory, semantic memory, instrumental learning, motor memory, and other types.^v

Memory has become an industry. Not just the chips in your computer. Study of memory is an important academic pursuit – whether animals or plants^vi are the subject. How memory works is a significant issue for education and, recognizing that numerous nations are outpacing us in this area, we have to be concerned with all the issues that relate to learning in any way. It would be wonderful if our kids could remember history or science as well as they remember hip-hop lyrics.^vii Mnemonics and test results rely on memory, but more important is the knowledge which we can acquire, and the ability to relate that knowledge to facts previously learned. If we are going to create something new, we need to know (and remember) what's old. We have to stand on the shoulders of those who came before.

But there are other needs which memory fulfills. For example, it's critical to our commerce. Our advertising depends on it. It's important that consumers remember our brand names and all that we've taught them about the quality of our products. It doesn't matter if the claims are true, as long as we get enough people to remember them and to buy the things we make or market.

And we need memory in order to play games. How else can we expect to get to the 36^th level of whatever it is that has our attention. And the chess masters, as well as those who play games like Concentration, won't do very well if their focus on the game at hand is not supplemented by additional information that they learned and remember.

More important though, we're concerned about Alzheimer's disease and other forms of dementia. And not only because we might forget how to utilize our computers. We hear almost daily of people who have wandered off and who lack any concept of where they are going or of how to return home – if they remember that they have homes. As the population ages, memory loss is becoming a more and more serious problem. It's a problem for the patients, their caregivers, and the American economy in general. For example, according to the Alzheimer's Foundation of America, the medical cost of the disease is one hundred billion dollars annually.^viii And that doesn't include other dementias, nor the fact that the cost is certain to go up. (Of course all that money has to go somewhere, and that's to nursing homes, home healthcare workers, scam artists, and anyone else with an idea about how to benefit from the situation. It's all “zero sum.” The money doesn't disappear. Someone gets it.)

But, from my perspective, the greatest merit of memory is that it allows me to have memories. They're not the kinds of things that Google can fetch for me. They're personal. No one remembers my childhood, or that of my children, as I do; no one can call back my college days or my courtship^ix of my wife as I experienced it. And no one wants to. Everyone has memories of his own. Nostalgia. Déjà vu. Sometimes the memories are real and sometimes they're idealized. And sometimes they're created from the “whole cloth.” In any event, they'll be forgotten when we forget them. But that's OK. Those memories will disappear as we will – as those who came before us did.^x We all want to be remembered, but we know that our stories will soon be forgotten. How long does a legacy last? In fact, how long does your own memory last?

So if you're thinking about remembering something for a long time, or being remembered for a long time, fuggedaboudit.

Next episode: “The Only Thing” – Henry Russell Sanders's philosophy and ours.

I        It was Bob Hope's theme song, from “The Big Broadcast of 1938,” in which he starred. He sang the song with Shirley Ross.

ii       The older I get, the more I forget. I try to deal with that problem by making lists. Whenever I think of something interesting, I write it down. Unfortunately, however, there are times when I can't make notes. Like when I'm in the shower. I think of things that I want to remember and try very hard to keep them “on line,” but I know I'm going to forget a lot of my ideas. And that's one of my most accurate insights, since I frequently forget the unwritten thoughts.

iii     Delete: The Virtue of Forgetting in the Digital Age, Viktor Mayer-Schönberger

iv      You can even see pictures of memory. Here's Salvatore Dali's “Persistence of Memory.”

         I don't understand it either.  (If the picture does not appear on your computer, you can see it by going to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Persistence_of_Memory)

v        I can't remember them all and doing so is too complicated anyway.

vi      http://www.news.uwa.edu.au/201401156399/research/move-over-elephants-mimosas-have-memories-too. (Don't say things you don't want them to know. They may remember. And they may tell them to someone else.)

vii      In my day it was batting averages and car models – at least among the boys. I don't know what the girls' obsessions were.

viii     http://www.alzfdn.org/AboutAlzheimers/cost.html

ix       Does the whole idea of courtship exist as it did more than half a century ago?

x        Do you remember your great grandparents? Or those who came before them? Or even after them. Each generation makes way for the next, and too many memories would occupy too much space and keep us from making our own. And it's our own that will sustain us as we get older.

Forget It

There's an old joke that you've heard, whether or not you can recall it:

            A: Your memory is the second thing to go.

            B: Oh? What's the first?

            A: I don't remember.

It's funny. The younger you are, the funnier it is. Unfortunately it reflects the reality that your memory deteriorates as you age. I'm not talking about dementia,ⁱ but about normal aging and its consequences.

My wife and I have it worked out. Fortunately we tend to forget different things (mostly) so we can usually help out each other with missing facts, words, events, and fill in the other lacunae left in our memories. It's kind of a joke between us. Sometimes what is missing will reappear on its own if we focus on something else, but sometimes we need help. Rarely the problem is solved with the aid of a family member and for some things a search engine is the magic bullet. And once you've accepted the inevitable, that's funny too.ⁱⁱ Of course it's less funny when you're driving along and have a thought and can't record it. The sign says that you can wait five minutes until the next “text stop,” but you know you can't. You know you'll have forgotten it by then. That's better than having an accident, though. I guess.

We all know that “the golden years” aren't as golden when you experience them as they might have been when you anticipated them, or when you saw them as someone else's problem, which people are likely to do when they're still young. One of the greatest difficulties you're likely to face is the need to make too many hospital visits and attend too many funerals. Of course you're glad they're not yours, but the loss of a friend or family member, and the need to comfort someone bereaved by that loss are difficult to manage. As is the knowledge that the time until your own funeral is decreasing.

However it's not all bad. At least if your health is reasonably good – apart from the various aches and pains that increase through the years and to which none of us is immune. They go with the territory.

In some ways getting older also has fiscal ramifications. The kids are out of the houseⁱⁱⁱ and the food bills now have human proportions. No more concerns about getting them to school on time or about tuition bills. And the various expenses they incurred are gone.^iv In addition, Medicare and Social Security are quite helpful for keeping the checkbook balanced, although you'll probably have to pay for some supplementation – medical or medicational.

On the other hand, there are some increased costs as well. One is the cost of insurance which rises with the years unless you have an already overpriced lifetime policy. And the cost of heating^v and lighting. I seem to need more of both as I get older, but I'm always debating with myself over the wisdom of spending more when I don't know how long I'll need whatever it is that I'm getting.^vi Should I save as much as possible to pass on to my children and grandchildren? Or will I simply be padding Uncle Sam's coffers by leaving them more money on which they'll have to pay taxes?

But, besides some savings in expenses, there are other features of an “up” side that result. At least there's an up side if those around you understand the problem – which they're likely to do since they see the aging as someone else's problem. Yours.

For example, seeing the arrival of grandchildren, and watching them grow up, is a pleasure and privilege without peer. As everyone knows, it's a grandparent's permitted pleasure to spoil them, and his privilege to go home when problems arise.

And since I'm retired, I have more time to go out – though I tend not to do so. But when I do, I often take the subway. It's so much easier to do so than to drive at night, and then to look for, and pay for, parking. I don't need to sit down for my trips on the subway. In fact I like to stand. But it's nice when someone offers me a seat. It doesn't happen very often, but it's nice when it does – whether or not I accept.^vii I'm more likely, however, to accommodate the magnanimity of those who would help me with something they consider too heavy or too difficult for me. I'd be a fool not to. I'm often amused when someone does for me what I'm quite capable of doing for myself, but if I have to get older^viii I shouldn't abjure the “perks.”

So I'm grateful for my “Senior Citizen”^ix card when I go into the subway and I never refuse the discounts that are given to those of a certain age.^x But, given the chance, I'd be willing – I'd be delighted – to forgo them for a few more years.

Next episode: “Snowden, Aspirin, and Unintended Consequences” – If it can go wrong ...

i        Who's to say, though. At some time in the future, someone will publish a paper listing the forgetfulness that we experience as we get older along with diseases, and everyone will jump on the bandwagon and turn it into a new form of dementia.

ii       My assumption is that a failing memory is your only affliction.

iii      Despite all our grousing, theirs and ours, it was fun at the time. And one of the costs of aging is the emptying of the house. However much I love my wife, when the children leave to go their own ways there is both a sense of loss and increasing knowledge of your mortality.

iv      Costs still exist. Assistance when it's needed and gifts when you feel like it. Presents for the grandchildren so that they won't forget you. But the costs are more a matter of choice than obligation.

v       That, of course, includes more sweaters and gloves, even to wear indoors. Something seems to happen to the circulation.

vi      And that applies to everything – not just clothing.

vii     Though I usually do. It would be a shame if my pigheadedness led to the belief by some young, healthy, individual that (s)he was a fool to make that offer and should avoid it in the future. I don't want to ruin it for others.

viii    And, as the saying goes, it's (usually) better than the alternative.

ix      My Metro Card is safe in my wallet so I won't forget it.

x       One of my favorites is the discount I get on Wednesdays at the used day-old cake store.