As Walt Kelly's Pogo once said, "Looks like Friday the 13th comes on a Sunday this month." It is the 13th of December and today is a special occasion for me. No it's not because I took Babs to a George Clooney movie. That may be special in its own way, but today is special because Views From the 14th Floor is one year old today.
In the past year I have written about my literal views from the 14th floor overlooking Lake Michigan and I have written about my views on life, education, living in Streeterville, politics, and I have at times just had fun with this, such as the post on "The Hat With Flaps Factor," and conversations with the "Reverend R.D. of the Church of There Ain't No God, but There Sure As Hell Is Morality."
I have met some new friends through this medium, who for whatever reason seem to appreciate my writing. I have managed to ruffle some feathers, and in some cases alienate some longtime friends with views that upset them a little. In some cases there were things I said that maybe were better left unsaid. In other cases Babs checked out a rant I'd written and told me maybe I better not say that online. I listened and wrote about other things on those days.
At any rate, Views From the 14th Floor is what it is. Sometimes I'm serious. Sometimes I'm not. Sometimes I write when I really have nothing to say, but I do it anyway. It has provided a structure to my life and has been helpful in my quest to become an everyday writer, someone who could possibly finish a novel. To those of you who may have been offended by something I said, "Sorry about that." To those of you who have disagreed with my views, "Sorry about that." To those of you who seem to like my writing and my views, unequivocally, "Sorry about that." Oops. I mean thank you for any adulation and appreciation.
Anyway, so much for the maudlin 1 year anniversary stuff. I have a story I'd like to pass along. A couple of days ago I was in the grocery store on the aisle with all the sandwich bags and freezer bags, etc. As I proceeded down the aisle I encountered a little old lady in a full length fur coat, desperately trying to grab some large freezer bags from the top shelf. She couldn't reach them. She was too short. Channeling my inner Boy Scout, I stopped my grocery cart and asked, "Do you need some help?"
The little lady, who had an expensive dye job on her hair to keep it from being gray, and who could've had a face lift perhaps, to keep her from looking her age, said, "Thank you." I asked her how many she wanted, and she said, "Five." Don't know exactly what she wanted with five boxes of gigantic freezer bags, but who am I to question the elderly in their fur coats? I gave her the freezer bags and by way of making some small talk, jokingly added, "It's a sad state of affairs when I'm the tall one." (I like to say that I'm 5' 8 1/2" or 5' 9" on a tall hair day. Sadly, at age 59, tall hair days are few and far between.)
At this point the little lady looked a bit puzzled and said, "What's that? You're Italian?" I chuckled to myself and corrected her. "No. I said it's a sad state of affairs when I'm the tall one." She nodded sagely and told me "I used to be taller." Then she went on her way down the aisle, hopefully searching for items on lower shelves. Even if she had shrunk a little in her age, this woman could not have possibly been more than 5 feet tall on a tall hair day when she was in her twenties.
It's funny. This was a woman who obviously was fighting tooth and nail against aging. She dyes her hair. She works very hard on keeping her face from showing signs of aging. She dresses to the nines in her furs and designer clothes even when she goes to the grocery store. Yet she cannot get a hearing aid, because that is a sign of age, or at least she thinks it is. I, the guy who gets the freezer bags from the top shelf for her, I wear a hearing aid. Better to hear the world around you than not. When you do not, that is a sure sign of age to the rest of the world.
We all fight against aging in one way or another. We all age anyway. You don't have to embrace it when you're 45 years old and never do anything challenging or interesting again. You don't have to stop growing and changing as a person because you reach a certain age. It's amazing the things we can do and continue to do at ages when we thought our grandparents were older than dirt. The physical vanities suffer, however, no matter how we fight against them. The hair changes color. In some cases, it falls out. The face develops lines that tell a story of your experience. Keeping the body in shape becomes more difficult over time. The inner life becomes richer. The life experience of the years makes you a more interesting person.
It's specifically those life experiences I draw upon in my "Views." I enjoy being here. I hope you do too. So here's wishing "Views" a happy first birthday, and many more.
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