Pardon me, but I plan not to get old...

Yep. That's my plan. I refuse to get old. When I start stumbling, my teeth come out, my eyes tear and I have to squint to read the BIG PRINT with my glasses on, my Supphose roll south without my permission, I start considering bathing and clean clothes as optional, and I am only modestly drooling, I am declaring myself dead!! I'll go find a nice cool place to sit and wait for the Grim Reaper (who names a kid that and expects anything positive to come of it?) to ask me to the dance. Of course, I might get scared, or bored, or hungry and wander off to find something to soothe me (chocolate), entertain me (American Idol Season 25), or feed me (more chocolate, please) and then the GR will show up and I won't be there and he'll get impatient and take off, find someone else to "grim" out of existence, and I'll come back to my little spot and be left waiting until I actually do expire. At least I won't end up wearing drool bibs to catch the saliva, adult diapers to catch other exiting "materials", wandering the halls of some facility, eating food that requires no teeth, no tastebuds and no swallowing, playing Bingo when I can't remember where I put my Bingo card and markers, thinking that another old person playing the piano badly and singing off-key with his dentures keeping time to the music is entertaining, and going on bus trips with a bunch of other old people just like me to places we'll never remember unless we do something humiliating and our facility friends who still have mental light bulbs that aren't flickering, remind us daily of the "event" that made the "Senior Citizen Gazette" front page. I'd like to bow out gracefully, and, if I can't manage that because my arthritis is acting up, I'll just walk into the sunset. Now which way is west?

Junkola and why you shouldn't keep any...

I am currently involved in the clean-out of my parents' home. They owned and lived it in for 54 years. Do you know how much junk, stuff, flotsam and jetsam, odds and ends, useless bits of nothingness you can accumulate in that amount of time? There aren't enough dumpsters in my hometown to accommodate the "special" things that my parents kept. Depression children learned to save EVERYTHING!!

My Dad loved keeping every bent nail, screw, nut, washer, bolt, odd tool, widget, etc. He was sure he'd need it someday, and occasionally there was a "someday" and he was able to put one of those saved "goodies" to good use. And that "someday" then became the mantra for why we should save everything. If a person could reach Nirvana by becoming a world class pack rat, then my Dad is somewhere in that mythical place right now (probably organizing the screws, nails, nuts, bolts and other similar items into very neat little containers) and he is happy as can be. He also loved visiting the dump. He could find all kinds of "potential" put-to-good-use things there. His original task of taking things to the dump to de-clutter always faded away once he drove through the gates of our city refuse depository. He always brought more home than he unloaded. Dad thought of the many projects he was going to do "someday" (also related to the someday when he'd use that itty-bitty odd screw he'd been saving for 25 years), and, if he was short of projects before he arrived, all that tossed away stuff was fodder for his imagination and he would think up dozens of new projects based on the "treasures" that other foolish people had thrown away.

My Mom accumulated clothes and things for the kitchen, and, later in life, when she was involved in some business and charitable organizations, she learned to save paper--mounds of it--and she kept it in multiple binders or plastic storage "envelopes". So I am finding paperwork from the 1980s through 2006, but I'm sending all of it to the garbage can. The way I figure it, if no one has asked for any of this stuff for all these years, it's probably not important to the life of the organization and the earth will continue to turn on its axis if it is thrown away. Does anyone remember the motto of the computer age--that we'd be a paperless society as soon as computers were in every home and business. Well, I think we have achieved that, but we seem to have way more paper than before we were paperless. We have to keep "hard" copies of what is on our computer in case we need to show it to someone who isn't close to a computer, or who doesn't own a computer (yes, there are still a few people who are in that dinosaur-walked-the-earth category), or to read at a meeting, or just in case our computer decides to turn into a comedian and crash on us taking everything with it. I am also trying to get rid of kitchen gadgets--the kinds of things we see featured on late night TV that everyone "just has to have" for $19.95 and, if you're among the first 100 callers, you'll get two items plus a combination skunk and grizzly bear repellent all for the same great price. There is guilt in throwing anything away even if you aren't a Depression era child. The quandry is trying to rationalize why any item that isn't worn out should be thrown out--"It's still good. Someone could probably use this. It will just fill up the land-fill that is already full. If I didn't already have 12 of these myself, I'd keep it." Clothing is even harder because there are memories attached to each article we or our family members have worn in the past. No one, well almost no one, looks at a meat thermometer and gets all misty-eyed thinking about the pot roast that was served the Christmas that Uncle Goony fell face first into the green Jello salad. But we remember places we wore a piece of clothing--a first date, a wedding, a baptism or christening, a special vacation--and throwing or giving away the clothing is like dispensing with the memory--"Enough of you. Take that! Be gone!"

So I guess I can't really blame my parents for keeping all the stuff they bought and all the stuff my Sister and I, our kids and our grandkids have sent over the years for all the holidays, birthdays, anniversaries, etc. We've added considerably to the stash of stuff no one really needed or even asked for. But, having spent the past two days preparing my Mom and Dad's house for sale, I am committing here and now to simplifying my life, getting rid of what I don't actually need or use, avoiding the purchase of items that aren't replacements for something worn out or totally broken and beyond duct tape (duct tape--another favorite Dad collectible), and never watching late night TV infommercials! I will repent of my sinful purchasing and hoarding habits today, just as soon as I take the Flo-Bee Hair Cutting apparatus out of the carton and find a spot in my crowded closet for it. Someday my kids will find it in my "treasure" trove and they will probably wonder what I was thinking and I'm betting one of them will wonder if they shouldn't keep it...just in case.

11 days since the last blast off!

It's hard to believe I haven't been blogblabbing for 11 days, but it's true. It's not that I haven't had something to say. I always have something to say. Most times it's just not that interesting, but I live alone and when the quiet gets too quiet, I fill it up with me--talking, running on about something, anything, stepping onto the soap box and preaching to the choir or anyone else who will listen. Oh heavens, I don't even care if anyone is listening anymore. I'm getting old, sailing into the sunset, and I'm not going quietly!!

Tonight's theme is "How Wierd Can I Be?" Answer: Very. Question: Who Cares? Answer: Who cares, who cares! Question: Do you think World Peace is possible? Answer: Only if no one in a beauty pageant is ever asked that question again. I know I'll feel more peaceable if that happens. Question: Why do old people seem to get wierd? Answer: Because we don't want anyone to forget about us, and, if all we do is sit around taking our teeth out and testing our blood sugar, we'll be forgettable. Question: What's the wierdest thing you've ever done? Answer: I haven't done the wierdest thing yet, but I'm thinking up a doozy. (Incidentally "doozy" is one of those old person words that make us seem wierd.) The End.

Never get old, and whatever you do, don't ever die...

Some of you readers (all two of you) might think this is a morbid topic, but, I can assure you that there is humor in the preparation needed prior to dying. First, make sure you have no assets, nothing anyone will want, nothing to leave behind. It makes everything for those left behind so much easier--no probate, no months in court, no lawyer fees, no haggling with siblings or other family members over Grandma's false teeth cup (or her teeth if there are dental issues with any of the not-dearly-departed), or her frumpy bathrobe and fuzzy, well-worn slippers, etc. If you die poor and without any debts, your remaining family and friends can just have a party and enjoy themselves and there won't be any rifts resulting from arguments over who got what and which grandkid was grandma's favorite--truth be known maybe she didn't like any of them but felt obligated to give gifts and act happy in their company.

However, if you have had even a modicum of success in life and have "stuff" and some money in the bank or some other financial institution, then there will be issues. If you don't have a trust, there will be the sound of "cha-ching" as the attorney works on the estate, and your heirs will hear that sound quite often as they spend time in courts trying to figure out whether they should pursue your assets or they should just save a lot of time and money by banging their heads on the nearest concrete block wall. Trying to change titles, make claims as beneficiaries, or anything else required to divvy up stuff becomes a full-time job and it is not for the faint of heart. I know because I have recently been dealing with my mother's newly established trust, in which my sister and I are trustees, hold powers-of-attorney for her financial interests as well as for her health care.

There is a theory that no two things can be in the same place (space), that that is physically impossible, but I dare to differ. Not only can two things (and by things I'm talking about procedures and paperwork) co-exist, they often are startlingly different. Say you need to go to the DMV to change the title of a vehicle from a parent's name (or names), and you carry your power-of-attorney with you so you can conduct "business", you will find that each clerk at the DMV has a different way of dealing with this procedure. And you will always have to "come back" at least twice before you can accomplish your task, and, no matter how hard you try, you will never get the same clerk, who appeared so helpful when you initiated this effort. You can let zillions of other DMV customers go ahead of you in hopes that your clerk will take care of you, but all you'll get is varicose veins while waiting and a grumpy clerk who will deny you access to the number one, helpful clerk. And, when you approach a bank to do anything, you will be likened to one of the poster children for "Most Wanted Fugitive" and will be treated accordingly. Banks will tell you that your power-of-attorney must be reviewed by their legal department before they will even consider accepting it and talking to you about anything more than the weather--this after waiting on the "platform" (what is this--a train station?) to speak to an officer, all of whom seem to go on vacation, eat lunch or take a break at exactly the same time. If the gods smile on you and your power-of-attorney is granted "acceptable" status, you will begin the long and arduous task of dealing with the bank to get all the account titles changed which will require your signing your name until your hand is permanently clumped into writing position. If you are a person who requires use of your writing hand for your livelihood, you will need re-training. And the list of items you need to do and the places you will need to go grows exponentially like a fungus out of control.

And so I return to my initial statement--never get old, and, if you need to die, don't tell anyone, hire a body double who can outlast your progeny or take leave of this earth with only dust bunnies and a toothpick to your name. You won't need them where you're going anyway...