Too Old or Not Too Old, That is the Question

It's a magnificent day on the 14th floor. The sun is shining. There's not a cloud in the sky. I went out to pick up some groceries and it was 46 degrees at the Mini. All, or most of the ice has melted in Lake Michigan. The water is a beautiful color of blue today.

Unfortunately, the end of the year and the reflection that comes with that is making me a little bit blue as well. I went to my 40 year class reunion from high school this year. Where did all of those old farts come from? Am I kidding myself, or did I somehow magically escape (so far) the epidemic of Old Fartitis that is sweeping the Boomer Generation?

To wit, when is the point in one's life where one becomes irrevocably, "an old fart?" Is there an age where you just cross the line and might as well be issued your "old fart" ID? Or does "Old Fartitis" strike at different ages with different individuals? I like to believe in the latter. It gives hope that I am not seriously delusional.

Indeed, there are some guys who get older and older, and although they age they never seem to become a crotchety, cranky old fart who never talks about anything but the old days and how things were a lot better then. Clint Eastwood is undoubtedly of an age where most people are "Old Farts." Yet Mr. Eastwood continues to act in and direct very thoughtful films that do not suggest "Old Farthood." Here in Chicago, our very own Studs Terkel recently passed away, and I dare anyone to suggest that Studs ever became an "Old Fart." Old yes, "Old Fart," no.

Following that train of logic, then, we come to view "Old Fartness," as a state of mind, not a state of being as pre-determined by one's actual chronological age. I've known some individuals who ceased to grow and change, began listening to the same old music, liking the same things and never changing when they were in their early twenties. Some, I think, metastasize in their thinking somewhere about the time they graduate from high school. All of these individuals are really "Old Farts" whether they, or society, knows it or not.

There are different kinds of "Old Fartness." In men it usually takes the form of the guy who has usually gotten fat and scoffs at other men of their age who run or exercise. These "Old Farts," also listen to the same music that they listened to when they were 18 years old and patently dismiss anything of a more recent or innovative vintage. They usually own a recliner and get their exercise, physical and mental, from the vantage point of that recliner, firmly rooted in front of their TVs.

In women, "old Fartness" looks a little different. It usually includes the inability to discuss anything other than children and grandchildren. Refusal to attempt dressing well is often part of the syndrome. Dowdiness and a penchant for wearing gym shoes while driving to the mall accompany the syndrome.

Needless to say, some of the more obvious symptoms of "Old Fartness" include a disdain for anything new in pop culture. "TV has just gone to hell in a handcart." "They just don't make movies like they used to." "I'm sorry I don't listen to music on the radio. I only listen to talk radio. I don't know who Sean Combs is." Usually "old Fartness" includes a complete disregard for advances in technology over the past 20 years. Most "Old Farts" now own a cell phone but wouldn't be caught dead texting with one. They generally don't have a clue what twittering is. My Space, Facebook, blogs? Forget it. "What is Wii? Guitar Hero? Is that a new band?"

Having become aware of "Old Fartness" and being of a certain age, I have found it necessary to begin watching for signs of hardening of the attitudes, of non-acceptance of change, and general "Old Fartness." Things to watch for? Have you found yourself in an aisle in a store looking at CDs and found it remarkable that this place carries all of those artists from the 60s and 70s and then looked around to find that the only people looking at CDs are "Old Farts?" Younger sorts download their music. Have you found yourself on any given Sunday evening at 6 PM (Central Time) watching 60 Minutes on CBS? Have you found yourself in a car listening to a "Classic Rock" station and thinking, "Hey this is pretty good,"? Have you found yourself shaking your head about teenagers and caught yourself saying, "Kids these days....."? These are just some, not all of the symptoms of "Creeping Old Fartitis."

All of that being said, I think I'll go to the gym and work out. Then I'll come home and try to watch something on TV that those "Old Farts" at my class reunion would never think of watching and maybe play something on my guitar that I wrote myself and doesn't qualify as a nostalgia trip. Now if I could just get some hair growing on top of my head again instead of in my nose and ears.

Giving

It's another cold day in Streeterville. It's currently 7 degrees at the Mini. No data is available on wind chills. I've been looking out at the lake and the movement of the water has caused the once solid sheet of ice to break up into little chunks of ice, iceberglets, if you will. The water the berglets are floating in has taken on the aspect of say a Slushee that is just trying to melt. It's still a little thick.

Due to the movement of the water in the lake the berglets are slowly moving apart from one another and back together, just kind of slowly sloshing around out there in a fashion that could cause a person with a tendency to motion sickness to divest their stomach of its contents. It could make you a bit queasy if you watched for an extended period of time.

It reminds me of an incident that happened earlier today. Babs and I upgraded our home theater system recently and as a result we were in possession of a Denon amp and receiver that was over a decade old, yet still functional. We were also in possession of a Sony CD player that was a decade or so old as well. Both of these stalwarts were still functioning and we didn't know quite what to do with them.

A friend pointed us to a charitable organization called La Casa Norte that takes in homeless young people and helps them get back on their feet. I put the electronics in the Mini and headed to Humboldt Park. When I got to La Casa Norte I got the receiver and CD player out and walked it inside. The people inside were very thankful and happy to have my castoffs, as I explained that there was nothing wrong with the equipment and it still worked perfectly.

Then a rush of emotion came over me. I realized that Denon amp had gone from Chicago to Guam and back to Chicago with us and from Graceland West to Andersonville to Streeterville with us, still in perfect working condition. How could I just give away a piece of personal history to strangers. I had a real emotional attachment to that amp. And the CD player had come out of a closet to go to work again after a fancier, more expensive one had ceased to work.

However, when I looked at the genuine gratitude on the faces of the recipients and accepted their "Thanks so much and Happy Holidays to you," a queasy feeling developed in the pit of my stomach and I knew that I had done the right thing. Someone else was now going to put my equipment to good use and stir some good memories from its use, just as it had for Babs and myself.

Then I remembered another occasion, when Babs and I were having a yard sale, back on Greenview in Graceland West. I had this leather jacket that I thought was beginning to show signs of wear and maybe had become dated for me. Never mind that when Babs loaned me the money to buy that jacket back in Minneapolis before we were even married it was just the coolest item of clothing in my wardrobe. I had a thousand warm, fuzzy memories centering around that cool jacket, the only leather jacket I'd ever owned at that point.

Then a guy in a beat-up pickup truck stopped on the corner to see what we had for sale. He went straight for that leather jacket and asked, "How much?" You could see the excitement in his eyes and maybe, just possibly the disappointment developing from the knowledge that it would be too much to afford. I smiled at him, shrugged, and said "Twenty dollars." When that guy's eyes lit up and he pulled that Andy Jackson from his wallet, I got that same queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I was selling the favorite jacket of my life, at that time, to some guy who looked barely removed from homelessness for $20 and damn he was happy to have it. I felt like a million bucks just being able to give it to him. I think back now and if he hadn't had the money, I probably would have just given it to him.

These moments don't come that often, but when they do you know you've done the right thing. You've touched someone else's life and for a moment you've made them happy, and it's worth all the consumer goods in the Western World to witness that. And that queasy feeling in the pit of your stomach is the indicator. It's a good queasy, not like the one you get from looking at a sloshing, Slushee-like Lake Michigan. Giving things when they mean nothing to you means nothing, but when you give from the heart, when you give something to someone else that means something personally to you and you know you've given something important......That's good. That is true giving.

Enjoy your holiday.

Winding Down the Year

Today is the winter solstice, the shortest day of the year. OK, they're all 24 hours, but some have fewer hours of sunlight than others and that too is variable, depending on your locale. Here on the 14th floor, overlooking Lake Michigan, the darkness is already creeping in upon us at 4:10 PM.

It's very difficult to see much of the lake today. It's very cold outside and the windows are fogged up in spots and frosted over in spots. Peering through the few clear spots I can see a very large expanse of white, frozen water. Babs has elected to spend the day indoors pursuing indoorsy things. I had to venture out to the grocery store to purchase necessary items, i.e. cat food and cat litter.

The TV weather tells us that the temperature is such and such at O'Hare, such and such at Midway, and on and on. I gauge the temperature by the readout in the car when I'm out and about. That being said, it's 2 degrees at the Mini Cooper. I really cannot say what the windchill factor is. This is a shortcoming of the German engineering in the Mini. It tells me my average MPG. It tells me my average rate of speed. It tells me how many more miles I can drive on the current tank of gas. It tells me how many miles I should drive before changing the oil. It does not, however, tell me the windchill factor, or what to buy Babs for our anniversary. Perhaps this calls for a letter to those BMW engineers.

The year is winding down and I'm anticipating a driving trip to Minnesota in a couple of days. I'm hoping for a Christmas trip that does not get extended by reason of excessive snowfall this year. Over the last 20 plus years of my marriage to a woman from Northern climes I have taken a trip at Christmas a great many times and have been snowed in a great many times, thus extending the joy of family Christmas to overjoyousness. We have driven and been snowed in. We have flown and had runways shut down due to snow, thus snowing us in for all practical purposes.

The solution to all this would seem to get all of my in-laws to move to Florida, but they seem a bit intransigent on this point. One can dream, can't one. In the meantime I will be driving to Minnesota once again. Maybe I'll take my snowshoes.

The ending of the year brings to mind a great many things. I made less money this year than last, but I'm not exactly destitute. It's the last few days of the W administration, and thank goodness for that. Our investments cannot take any more of the W gang looting the country. What a concept. Turn over the regulatory agencies to those who are supposed to be regulated. Then let your friends get filthy rich at the expense of the rest of us. Barack cannot arrive in D.C. too soon. (As I sit here in my "One voice can change the world." Obama '08 T-shirt) So even if not destitute, retirement became a bit more difficult and the number of years working before retirement may have gotten longer because of this year.

I was just looking at my running logs for the year and I realize that I ran 745.66 miles this year. That's like running from Chicago to Minneapolis and back far enough to catch a Metra train from the suburbs in the rest of the way. Not bad for an old guy. My weight continues to be a plague on my existence so I'll no doubt run at least that far next year as well. Good Ray genetics to thank for that, a whole family of Scotch-Irish squat,wide people. Then my hair had the nerve to turn gray on me and start falling out in huge quantities. The bald spot on the back is in danger of meeting the receding hairline in the front and shaking hands, figuratively. If literally, that would be a bit scary.

Overall, however, life has still been good. I can still enjoy a good cup of English tea, with a bit of New Zealand honey, and a touch of Key West lemon juice. My health is still good. My wife is still lovely. The big flat screen TV still works. I can still listen to music from the stereo through speakers in my bathroom, while I ....shave. I wrote a lot of songs this year and hope to continue doing so. I've learned a bit more about music theory and creating accompaniment to songs with a guitar. In the spring I anticipate a trip to Miami.

It is true that through the entire 2008 year, the Cubs, Bears, and Bulls have continued to be the bane of my existence. It could be worse, sportswise, I could be in New York where Steinbrenner continues to pour money into a franchise that is good, but somehow not good enough. The Knicks make the Bulls look like the second coming of Jordan, and well forget about the Giants and Jets. A hardy raspberry for those two. Maybe they'll choke yet. At least I don't live in Detroit.

The days are only getting longer from here. Winter is with us for a while yet, but the new year is just around the corner, bringing the hope that new years always do, for better things. Enjoy these last few days with family and friends. Refresh yourself and come back with a new mindset, determined to beat the world at its own game in 2009. Enjoy the fact that you'll be getting a few minutes more of sunlight every day from now until June. Happy Solstice.

Teecherz Rule

Just sitting here on a gray winter afternoon looking out at the frozen chunks of ice forming wondrous little jigsaw patterns on the lake. Out beyond in the deeper lake there is open water, perhaps a little slushy, though. Above, however, is gray, like my mood has been about work lately.

I work for the 3rd largest school district in the country. I work in a high school in a neighborhood widely known as a place where every week or two some teenager shoots another teenager. It is known as "Back of the Yards," for the former stockyards that occupied a huge section of this portion of the city.

The ethnic makeup of the student body is 2/3 Latino and 1/3 African American. About 98-99% of the students come from families that live below the poverty line. There are a great many free and reduced price lunches here. Many of our kids will be the first one in their family to graduate from high school, not college, high school. Many of our kids join gangs to keep from being assaulted by thugs in the neighborhood. Drugs are routine. 95% of our kids kids know someone who has been shot.

Some of our kids can't read because they suffer from learning disabilities. Some can't read because they just moved here from Mexico and Spanish is their first language. Some just aren't motivated and don't care. They have low expectations and don't think about anything beyond age 21 at best. Not really a breeding ground for scholarship. Still, many of our kids do well. Many suffer through it all and come out okay. As a teacher you have to try to minimize the craziness from the minority that tries to keep the rest from learning.

I'm not applying for sainthood. I'm just a guy who does his job and as it happens, cares about kids and the future of our country. Sometimes it seems like teacher bashing has become the national pastime. Arne Duncan is about to become the Secretary of Education for the nation. He is being rewarded for what he has done with the Chicago Public Schools.

Let's see what he has done. He has presided over the startup of such schools as Northside College Preparatory High School and Walter Payton College Preparatory High Schools which recently were included in a list of The Best 100 High Schools in the country. Pretty good. What happens, though, is the best and brightest are taken out of the neighborhood schools and shuttled off to magnet programs for students who are going to succeed and the students who do not qualify are left in the neighborhood schools. The best and the brightest in those schools are the ones who formerly were the merely average.

Then there is the program called Renaissance 2010. Research has shown that students are more successful in smaller environments where teachers and administrators know every student personally instead of in huge learning factories. The idea was to take the worst big schools, shut them down, and recreate each as several smaller schools with a renewed dedication to reaching every child. Nobody talks about the fact that Charter Schools and Contract Schools bring in private dollars and oversight into a formerly public domain and thus save taxpayers money in the process. Oh, and they aren't governed by the same rules and restraints that govern fully public schools. Teachers and administrators can be paid less money. They don't have to contribute to pension funds for the employees, on and on... The jury may be still out on these schools, but at this point it looks as if selective enrollment schools do great things for their students, but those that accept any student don't do a bit better job of educating kids than the old schools did. They're just cheaper. It's all smoke and mirrors.

The kids who come from the bad neighborhoods come to school with so many problems. It's a wonder they learn at all. The teachers in the schools in those neighborhoods are continually bashed and punished when all the best students have been sent elsewhere, yet they continue to show up and do their best with what they have. In return they are held up as "those failing schools with bad, unmotivated teachers." They don't need excoriating. They need resources. They need psychologists and social workers for the kids. They need smaller class sizes. They need security guards to stop gang violence, tagging, and drug sales in the bathrooms. They need adequate computer facilities for their students in the classroom. Instead, resources continue to dry up and these schools are threatened with being shut down.

A couple of days ago the students at my school, in a celebratory mood for the holidays, opted to have a food fight in the cafeteria. The food fight turned nasty when one student was hit up the side of the head with a tray. The food fight turned into real fight with African American and Mexican American students began to choose up sides and the fight turned into a racial incident. Huge numbers of kids who belonged in a classroom heard rumors and rushed to the scene of the incident to gawk and cheer like Roman peasants in the Colosseum cheering the lions and gladiators.

This is real education in a school in a bad neighborhood in any large city in the U.S. We who do the job go to work every day, secure in the knowledge that some of these kids will survive, go on to college, and one day come back to visit and thank us. We are secure in the knowledge that some of the kids will not go to college or at least will not finish college, but they will get a job and survive anyway. We are secure in the knowlege that a minority of these kids are lost. These are the kids who are looking forward to being shot or locked up in prison, or both. The pretty little girls who developed the attitude and hung out with the gangs will have children too early and too often and will live a life of poverty, extending the cycle for at least one more generation.

Yet the mantra coming from the schools of education in universities across the country and from Washington itself continues to be, "No child left behind," and "Every child can learn." This is from people who never spend a day in a classroom with real kids in the other America. Sorry. I just needed to vent. Merry Christmas.

The Hat With Flaps Factor

I was driving to work this morning listening to Jimi Hendrix on the radio singing "Foxy Lady," and it occurred to me. In this weather even the foxiest ladies don't look too foxy. Yesterday it was 9 degrees. Today it was a balmy 12.

I do believe that the weather has achieved what is known as the Hat With Flaps Factor, or as it is known in some circles, the Rosenmiah Factor, for Steven Rosenmiah, a Minneapolis resident who first made me aware of this vital scientific factor. It seems that people, when the weather turns cold, get out their winter wardrobes and make every effort to appear chic and well-dressed. However, when the temperature drops below a certain threshold, "The Hat With Flaps Factor," nobody cares what they look like anymore and out come those items that are merely functional, and are intended to make one warm and comfortable instead of fashionable.

Living in a fashionable neighborhood in downtown Chicago, one has the opportunity to view a great many fashionable ladies, fur coats, fur hats, $1000 boots, and all. When the "Hat With Flaps Factor" occurs, though, even these precious ladies will be seen on the streets of Chicago wearing hats pulled down over their ears, scarves pulled up over their faces and with no part of their surgically altered cheek bones and noses showing, looking ever so much like a Muslim snow bunny. Often the "Hat With Flaps" these ladies wear will be made of mink or other such expensive fur, but it still looks goofy as hell.

One of the key traits of the "Hat With Flaps" is that it has to look goofy as hell. Mind you there are some city residents who simply go with the traditional knit stocking hat, but to really make it into the "Hat With Flaps" category these have to have something special about them, i.e. one that looks like your grandmother knitted it or it came straight out of a Scandinavian children's story. I'm tempted to add those stocking caps that white 20 something guys wear that make them look like they're trying to emulate Hip Hop stars. That's really goofy. At any rate, these are "Sort of Hat With Flaps" types, not the genuine article.

The real live genuine "Hat With Flaps" must be a real hat and possess, well ...flaps. Take for example those llama wool things that come from the Andes and tie under the chin if you want to go there. Extra goofy. They are, however, warm and out they come when the factor is reached. In additon, there are Elmer Fudd hats, your basic Kanga type hat with flaps that fold out from the inside, farmer's caps with flaps, and your Klondike type hats (If they come from Scandinavia or Russia, they still look goofy on you, albeit functional.). And when the temperature dips, when the snow begins to fly, out they all come. Who cares what you look like? They do the job.

For the record, Babs owns a dark fur Klondike or Russian type hat and I own one of a similar makeup that is gray sheep skin, lined with Icelandic wool. Great hat. Really warm. Picked it up in Reykjavik just before we went on an adventure to the top of a glacier and peered into the cone of a frozen over dormant volcano. It served its purpose. Oh, and by the way we could see the Arctic Ocean to the north and the Atlantic Ocean to the West from the top of that glacier. Stunning. Eventually, I even saw the Aurora Borealis in that hat. Still looks goofy on me, though. I think for a real "Hat With Flaps" experience you need accessories.

You know when the weather gets really nasty and winterish, sometimes you need not only a "Hat With Flaps" but sometimes you need boots. I'm not talking about those fru fru boots like downtown ladies wear that often are suede and/or possess high heels. I'm not talking about Uggs. I'm talking about good old waterproof boots. Ugly as hell, but they keep your feet dry and warm. Top them off with a "Hat With Flaps."

And while we're thinking about it, when the weather gets really nasty you need something other than that nice looking topcoat that makes you look so dapper gentlemen, something other than that chic coat from the boutique ladies. We're talking about something that looks like you're ready for surviving a trip on a dogsled. We're talking about a real coat, at least something that says North Face and has a zip in liner and a hood. Bulky, yeah. Warm and toasty at 10 below, oh yeah. To be worn with real boots and a "Hat With Flaps."

Now is that all? Is there anything I've forgotten at this juncture? Oh yeah. Got to have the big honkin gloves. You know the kind I'm talking about. They always come with a little tag that has a 3M logo and says "Lined with thinsulate." That's what we're talking about. Oh yeah. Who cares if you look a little like the Michelin Man. You're warm. The weather outside has passed the "Hat With Flaps Factor." You're out to prove that winter can't defeat you. Make friends with winter, .....or stay indoors and drink hot toddies for the next few months. Hmmmm.

All of that being said, ladies and gentlemen, I'm sitting here on the 14th floor. Last I checked, it was about 15 degrees outside. The snow is coming down so hard I can't really see much of Navy Pier just now. The lake is covered in a layer of fluffy white. I can hear cars on Lake Shore Drive honking angrily at one another. Someone is no doubt flipping someone off. There will be a few rear end collisions out there tonight. Am I bundling up, going out, facing the elements tonight? Heck no. I'm finishing my glass of wine and thinking about dinner.

Long live the "Hat With Flaps."

It's All About Me

I was out running errands this morning and on my way from the bank to the grocery store, I was walking on a sidewalk between the park and the MCA. I met three people walking toward me. Two, a man and a woman, were pushing baby strollers, and a third wasl walking between them.They occupied the entirety of the sidewalk. Did any one of the three step to one side so as to share the sidewalk with another human being, walking in the other direction? The thought never entered their minds. They kept walking and, I suppose, expected me to step aside so they could pass. Obviously they were more important than the stranger walking the other way. I stepped off the sidewalk as they passed. I had no other choice. It was either that or create a scene on an otherwise lovely Saturday morning.
A few years ago I was in a parking lot at a strip mall containing an Ace Hardware, a video store, a software and computer supply store, and a bagel shop. One end of the parking lot was marked Enter. One end of the parking lot was clearly marked Exit, No Entry. Being a good citizen, I entered at the correct end and seeing no parking spots waited patiently in line behind a couple of other cars for parking spots to open up. After 5 minutes or so a spot opened up and as I pulled up to park in the spot, I noticed a guy in a Jeep coming in the Exit making tracks as fast as he could for the parking spot. Well, being the person I am I gunned the Mazda and pulled into the spot before the aforementioned Jeep driver could get there. And, oh yeah, I mouthed the words to myself, "No way a*****e." Apparently the Jeep driver was very adept at reading lips and as my wife and I were getting out of the car to tend to our business, this guy in the Jeep pulled up right behind our car and jumped out, ran up, getting right in my face. He was about 5 feet 5 or 6 inches tall, beet red in the face, and screaming at the top of his lungs, "A*****e! A*****e! You're the a*****e! You're the m****r f*****g a*****e!" The tirade went on and on and I grabbed Babs by the hand and we walked around him toward the store. He followed right behind us all the way to the door of the store continuing to scream, "That was my parking spot! You're the m****r f****g a*****e!" Babs chalked it up to a teeny weeny, an oversized ego, and an MBA. At any rate, this I got for playing by the rules and expecting others to do the same.
One might be tempted to think this is just a phenomenon peculiar to self-centered sorts in neighborhoods where lots of people have a lot of money and are absolutely certain that the rest of the world is less important than they are and, therefore, owe them obeisance. Unfortunately, this is not the case. I drive to a poor neighborhood on the South Side of Chicago 5 days per week to work at a public high school. When driving down 47th Street or 51st Street in a recognizably poor neighborhood, the attitude on the street is one of, "Get out of my way. I'm coming through," and the street belongs to the boldest and the fastest. When one pulls up to a traffic light or a stop sign, inevitably the car behind you pulls up on the right hand side to try to get around you. In most cases this involves swerving in front of you seconds before they slam into the back of a parked car, thus causing you to slam on your brakes to avoid slamming into the car that cut you off. This behavior is not just teenagers and 20 somethings smoking marijuana in cars they drive way too fast down city streets. I'm talking about 75 year old women in Ford Fiestas, city garbage truck drivers, school bus drivers, and even the occasional Chicago Policeman. They one and all pull up on the right and challenge you to keep them from cutting in front of you. Then there are the pedestrians who walk across the street in front of you, forcing you to brake to avoid hitting them and continue to stroll as slowly as possible across the street. I made the mistake of yelling and gesturing to get one of them to get out of the street on Stony Island Ave. one time and he stopped in the middle of the street and cursed me out for a good two minutes, stopping all traffic, before moving on.
Where has the civility gone? When did people get so self-centered that it became an every man for himself world? When did people cease to recognize that they share the world with over 6 billion other people and we have to share it to get along? I am reminded of the extreme hubris of Oedipus on the road to Thebes when he met his own father, and not knowing the man to be his own father demanded that he pull over to the side of the road to let him pass. The father, a king in his own right, refused and the resulting fight resulted in the death of the father and the chain of events that led to Oedipus marrying his own mother and bringing about the ruin of Thebes. At some point, "I'm more important than you," becomes "My country is more important than yours," or "My religion is the one true religion,"or "my way of life is right and yours is wrong," and the possibility of bringing the entire planet to ruin through extreme acts of self-centered hubris becomes a real possibility.
Mothers, teach your children to share. Encourage them. Let them know that they are important, but so are 6.2 billion other people. And thank you Rodney King for that one bit of wisdom, "Why can't we just all get along?" We can, when we all begin to recognize that we share the planet with a lot of other people, and they all think they are right and important too.
R.D. Ray