Two geezers with pneumonia stranded in a nor’easter. Food
enough for a few days; cat food enough for a few days. Oil enough for a few
days. Drugs enough for a few days. We’ll worry about the storm cleanup -- in a few
days.
I was born on a ‘5’, 1945. So, to me the word ‘decade’ is
a 5 to 4 sort of thing. I’m in my eighth decade (2015-2024). I once pictured my
‘golden years’ much differently than what I see coming. As a result of a recent election,
my calendar has been returned to my third decade – 1965 - 1974. My body is
still in my eighth decade, but the world around it has regressed fifty years.
If I hadn’t hated that third decade so darned much, I’d
welcome the do-over, but only if the body clock could be set back, too, but not
the technology clock. Yeah, I'd like a conditional mulligan. On my own terms.
There are so many things I would do differently. I would actively
protest unjust war, racial inequality, and women’s inequality.
I would wear more pant suits and fewer skirts. I would wear comfortable shoes
instead of high heels. I would wear pants and shorts on the golf course, rather
than abide by men’s dress-like-a-woman codes. I would play golf
before noon and challenge them to remove me. I would not marry, but I would
have children anyway. I would go to law school. I would be a lawyer now. Like
my friends Steve and Karen.
They say long-term memory hangs on better than short-term
memory. Theoretically, when I get that ‘déjà vu’ feeling now, there’ll be a
good reason. It’s not just a passing memory. I’m not going tapioca. I’m not
watching too much ‘Murder She Wrote’. It’s not a re-run. It’s reality. That’s
so reassuring.
Oh! How I wish I’d seen this coming. I could have done so
much good with that half-century, and be better equipped to handle this unexpected
déjà vu time of my life. But, I made choices based on more progressive expectations,
and I have been caught a little short because of them. I will adapt because,
indeed, I have been here before.
We have years of Throwback Thursdays ahead of us. And Throwback
Fridays and Saturdays and Sundays and Mondays and Tuesdays and Wednesdays, too.
I can make new choices this time around. I have with me
the fifty years of experience I gained seeing my country through ill-conceived
wars, racial injustice, and the oppression of women and minorities. I have in
my genes the memories of the intolerance toward my Irish immigrant families and
their religion. I am duly armed.
There is a wide range of tools available that weren’t
there in my third decade. We have the internet, a place chock full of all the
knowledge since the beginning of recorded time. And we have social media to
bring folks in San Diego together with folks in Boston. We have telephones that
keep track of our calendars and contacts, and let us talk with each other.
One priceless thing we have is satellite radio, because
one of the best products of my third decade was the music. The music of protest:
Bob Dylan; Credence Clearwater Revival; Peter, Paul and Mary; Barry McGuire;
Buffalo Springfield; Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young. The unforgettable "Jesus Christ Superstar" score. We
had John Denver to celebrate our earth; we had James Taylor – well, we still
have him.
SiriusXM has music channels for the 60’s and the 70’s.
Our old music is richer and more available on a platform fifty years newer. And
we can hear it in our cars, on our phones, and on our computers. I never saw
that coming – but I am so glad it did.
Coughing, fevered, and tired, I look out at the fifteen inches of snow the
blizzard has left in our yard. I give thanks that I no longer have that ’62 Falcon
or the ’70 Torino, with their tire chains, and those old bias ply tires. Do NOT want a do-over on those.
We
have Jeeps now with all their gidgets and gadgets and let me tell you – they will
move through fifteen inches of snow with ease when you really need to get to
the mailbox. If you clean them off, first, so you can see the mailbox.
MRP
