The other day I was watching a golf tournament and they mentioned that the tournament director, a great guy, had recently passed away at the age of 75. I thought to myself, well that's not bad, he certainly had a full life. Then it hit me...the guy was six years older than I am! Whoa, when did this happen? How can I be staring 70 in the face? It seems like yesterday that I was drinking and partying. Wait, that was yesterday! But I'm getting off the track. 
I've written here before about the joys of getting older, but it's the gift that keeps on giving. Last week I skipped not one but two days of my maintenance medication because my routine changed a little. Older people rely on routine to help them remember stuff they are supposed to do like taking pills. I have this little pill box marked with the days of the week so I'll know if I took my pills on a given day. Trouble is by the time I realize that I've skipped a dose it's already too late. I didn't know where else to put the freaking pill box so that I will see it each morning, but then a solution presented itself.
I feel sorry for my poor wife, who by the way shows no signs of aging or slowing down. She never sits, and it's all I can do to lift my legs while she Swiffs under me. She pushes me to not sit at the computer all day and to move around instead. We walk every day, take vitamins, and she works so hard to cook healthy, but I feel like I'm losing ground. She's probably looking ahead to the day when that big sausage and egg breakfast turns out to be my last, and she can find someone in better shape who looks even a little like Johnny Depp. It would be hard for her to leave me before then though, because I'm deaf enough not to hear her dump me, and even if I do, I probably won't remember.
I've also become a major crank, and that's not fair to those around me, especially my wife. In the past few days here are some of the petty things that I've allowed to annoy me: my morning newspaper being delivered late; a new roll of gift wrap paper that barely goes around the cardboard tube once; double-parked cars, a permanent pet-peeve; morbidly sentimental e-mails with pictures of puppies and kittens, not only asking me to read them but to annoy 20 other people by passing them on; people in front of me in the return line who bring back merchandise to stores looking as if it came out of a trash compactor, and then taking up my valuable time trying to convince the skeptical clerk that it came that way in the box.
There's more....telemarketers who cold-call trying to sell me stuff, and who add insult to injury by feigning interest in me with rehearsed small talk: "Hey, those Jets are having quite a season, huh?"; I ordered an art print for my daughter and it arrived in a crushed, wet tube. I complained to the sender that if the print did not dry with no damage, I'd expect a replacement. They kindly responded with an apology saying they were shipping another copy and to keep the first print. Now I'm annoyed 'cause I feel guilty for complaining; my gardener applies powdered lime a couple of times a year as a fertilizer...maybe applies is too precise a word...actually he flings it into the wind, covering everything but the grass and bushes; did I mention double parking?
Now you have some idea of what my wife puts up with. There was an award-winning TV show on CBS Playhouse in 1967 (I looked it up) staring Melvyn Douglas and Shirley Booth who played an older couple fighting to maintain their dignity in the face of physical decline. The title of the show is from a poem of the same name by Dylan Thomas, who wrote it to convince his father, grown weak and frail with old age, to fight against imminent death. Here's the first stanza: "Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rage at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
Alright already, I'm raging. (Did I mention double parking?)
SEE DATES ABOVE RIGHT FOR OTHER POSTS FROM "BRAINDROPS". ALSO, READ MY OTHER BLOG:SPALDEEN DREAMS
LOOKING FOR A WORTHY CHARITY? TRY THESE FOLKS: Children's Craniofacial Association
Our idea of "want" has changed over the years. Some people today feel deprived when they can't afford that third plasma TV, but it wasn't always that way. The ancestors, on whose shoulders we stand had it a lot tougher. For so many of them, "want" meant something to eat, or a coat to keep them warm. Those who lived through the Great Depression knew hardships most of us can only imagine. It would have been easy for them to just throw in the towel, after all, there were few jobs to be had, and unlike today the government wasn't giving away free money as fast as they could print it. They didn't quit though, instead they tightened their belts and found a way to get by. Here are a few "Now vs. Then" comparisons to illustrate: 
We get impatient when our automated central heating or air conditioning systems don't make the house comfortable fast enough. My grandfather Pasquale got up before work every morning at 3:00 AM and walked along the Long Island Railroad tracks in Brooklyn picking up coal that had fallen off the railroad cars hauling it to the freight yards. He burned what coal he was able to gather in the coal stove to heat their cold-water flat on Dean Street. Grandpa worked as a steamfitter, a laborer laying sewer pipes, and finally for the old Brooklyn Union Gas Company before using the family's meager savings to invest in his own business, a hat shop and shoeshine parlor. Not only did Pasquale make a good living for himself, but created jobs for 5 or 6 people during the worst depression this country had ever seen.
For some modern women, their $50,000 kitchen is the least used room in the house. My grandmother Caterina , in between sewing linings in coats, baked bread and pasta, bottled tomato sauce, made and preserved sausage, made her own root beer and sarsaparilla, and even home brewed beer. She was not only a talented seamstress, but also had a keen knowledge of electrical, plumbing and carpentry repairs, and could handle a paint brush better than most. Every day she made a hot lunch and carried it to my grandfather's shop on Rockaway Avenue where they ate their mid-day meal. During her "relaxation" time, she did crocheting and embroidery. 
We board ships to take lavish cruises with endless meals and extravagant entertainment. If we hit a bit of rough water we are downing Dramamines and complaining to anyone who will listen. My wife's grandmother Gelsomina was also a ship's passenger when, as a girl of around 14, she was sent to America by her parents to work as a domestic for a family in Brooklyn. Sadly, her people in Italy could not support her, and so, huddled in the rough accommodations in steerage class, she made the lonely journey to a foreign land where she knew not a soul. She later married, gave birth to eleven children, and became one of that amazing generation of immigrants who helped make America great.
Gelsomina's husband Vincenzo also came to America from Italy, and worked as a ship's cook for the Merchant Marine before saving enough money to open his own candy store on Hicks Street in Brooklyn. Vincenzo did a little bootlegging during Prohibition, and like many Brooklyn candy store owners, took a few "numbers" bets on the side. As an older man, Vincenzo walked his granddaughter (my wife) to school, and she remembers him asking her to pick up discarded bus transfers from the street so that he could enjoy a free ride downtown to pick up his groceries.
I think a lot about how hard it must have been for my grandparents' generation to survive the Great Depression. I also think about their courage and resourcefulness... how, despite the lack of even basic necessities, they managed to provide for their families and helped pull the country out of its tailspin. They didn't look for a bailout or handouts, but rather pulled themselves up by their bootstraps got things done. Their motto preceeded the Nike commercial by about 80 years: "Just Do It." I didn't want this blog to be about gloom and doom but rather a tribute to the amazing men and women whose indomitable spirit lives on in us. If only a small part of their strength survives in us, I think we'll be OK.
