Life as Palindrome

Recently I shared with friends an odd convergence of events in my life.

At 13 months of age, my granddaughter Clara is ever so close to walking on her own. With some coaxing, I can get her to let go of the coffee table or the chair and take a step toward me. But then she either grabs my hand, returns to the table or chair or simply sits down.

But in a week or two or three, she will let go. Behold, the toddler!

As all this has been going on, I’ve noticed that balance has become a bit of a problem for me in my mounting years. It used to be that I could stand on my left foot and put my right leg in my pants leg and then switch my balance and repeat the process for my left leg. All of this without holding on to anything.

It all seemed pretty natural until recently when I’ve not been able to perform this everyday act without holding on to something: the dresser, the door, the bed.

There seems to be, I told my friends, a time to let go and a time to hold on, and nature tells us when it is. Someone said this sounded vaguely biblical. It’s Ecclesiastical, to be exact:

There is a time for everything,
 and a season for every activity under the heavens:

a time to be born and a time to die,

a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,

a time to tear down and a time to build....
 
These events also reminded of a story from David Eagleman’s mind-stretching book “Sum.” The story is titled “Reversal.” In this little fable – the book is full of fables about imaginary afterlives – life reverses itself after we die. Comes a time in this reversal when I, being exhumed from the grave, revived at the hospital etc. would no longer need to grab something to put my pants on. And, growing younger, regressing through my "past," there would come a time when I, as a toddler, would no longer feel safe walking or standing on my own. I would be compelled to cling to a hand or a coffee table.

Spending time with little Clara is teaching me that life is, in a way, a palindrome.

Recalculating

In traffic-crazy Orange County last weekend, my friend John missed a freeway exit in our rental car.
He had been alerted by the robotic female voice on the GPS, but John had been engrossed in conversation with another passenger and failed to follow the clear instructions to exit right in “zero point five” miles.”

The screen immediately showed his error and a luminescent parade of green dashes scrolled across the small dash-mounted display.

Immediately our gizmo's monotone intoned “recalculating.”

John’s a management consultant who gives workshops in effective communication. He has also worked on Alternatives to Violence in California prisons. He’s accustomed to people not listening carefully enough, including himself.

“I love it,” he exclaimed as he listened for the revised directions to get us back to where we needed to be.

“If you mess up with this device, there’s no blaming or guilt tripping. The GPS simply does what it needs to do, RECALCULATING.”

“That’s exactly what we need to do, recalculate.”

We both thought of times when business or domestic conflict could have been resolved by simple recalculation.

Did you forget to pick up milk at the grocery? Recalculate and go to the corner store.
Guys, did you leave the toilet seat up? Recalculate. Apologize and promise to be more aware in the future.

Did you forget to put out the curb-side recycling? Recalculate. Looks like a trip to the recycling center in a couple of days.

I’ve thought a bit more about recalculation since our California musings on this new technology-based metaphor.

It helps to recalculate together.  I can hear a new GPS command “mutually recalculating...”

The older I get the more recalculating I’m going to need. I’ve certainly needed to recalculate with the onset of hearing loss. Hearing aids help, but they don’t provide crystal-clear hearing. Recalculation means lip reading, patience, finding quiet places to talk, and sharing my hearing issues before engaging in conversation.

Glaucoma eye pressure-reducing drops and blood pressure medication are now part of my recalculated routine.

I know I’m going to face more recalculation with age. I’ll need to schedule more time for doing things. I’m sensing that I will be stereotyped as being “old.” How do I recalculate for that?

I can see the changes will mean not only recalculating, but re-recalculating of earlier recalculations.

But, you know what? With recalculations, I’m going to gracefully get to where I’m meant to go.

All I ask is what the GPS lady asked for when we missed our exit. Be patient (this will take a second)...I’m recalculating.

"Ageless" is Shameless

The Oregonian tells us that we "honorary citizens" now have perfume to solve a problem we never knew we had.

According to a story in Saturday's edition, we reek of something more than wisdom. The purveyors of a smelly concoction called "Ageless” want us to believe we emit a senior stench.

To the creators of “Ageless” and their fear-mongering marketing managers, here’s a scent for you. It’s called "Shameless."

Its bottle is the shape of an accusatory finger.

“Ageless” sells for $120 a bottle. Such a deal.

The product and its advertising and PR campaigns are all examples of the common marketing ploy of making us afraid of ourselves (Too fat? Too thin? Too frizzy? Too old? Too uptight?) and then offering us overpriced products (prices inflated by PR/advertising) to allay the fake fears.

P.S. Shameful is The Oregonian story about “Ageless."

Headline: “Ah, the sweet smell of youth” Subhead: “Getting older stinks — literally. So here comes Ageless, a perfume that, olfactorily speaking, knocks a few years off”

Something smells all right, but it isn’t seniors. The story stinks. It perspires mightily trying to tie the perfume "solution" and some aging smell “problem” to science.

It’s a weak thread, as you will see if you read the story.