Back?

            I believe that my computer problems that led to the disabling of my bog have been solved. When I say “my computer problems,” I of course mean things I have done on my computer to create the problems. A couple of visits to the Best Buy Geek Squad (no Apple Store within 200 miles) got everything worked out. Let me know.

 

            You should know that my blog has a new address: dhstringer.blogspot.com. If and when I send out notification that I have posted a new blog entry, I will direct you to that address. I will not be posting regularly or often – too busy gradually moving to our Asylum condo. But occasionally . . .. However, all my old postings are on the new address, and since most of them are forgettable, you can look back with fresh eyes.

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Post Mortem

 I should note my debt to Steve Dunning, a professor and poet who published a collection of poems entitled “Waking Up Dead.”

            The other day it occurred to me that it would be cool to continue posting my blogs after I died.

 

            There are a several ways to do this. The simplest is to write a bunch of posts in advance of my death and then arrange, through a friend or using technology, to have them posted every Thursday. It would also be necessary to send out notifications, and to incorporate the editorial help that Gene Palumbo regularly provides.

 

            Another way to post my post-mortem posts is to just do it after I die. So, if and when I wake up dead, I locate a computer, preferably the one I was using when alive because it knows my thumbprint that I use to access my stuff. (I know – hard to imagine that locating a computer would be a priority when you woke up dead, but I know how technology-dependent we have become.) Or maybe some sort of magic happens and I can think my post mortem posts into existence, and send them out. That way I could post what and when I wanted – just like now. This solution assumes, of course, that I can wake up dead. Who really knows?

 

            I would think that my primary subject matter would be descriptions of what is going on around the dead-but-awake me, written, I hope, with some wit and insight. What’s it like there? Would I get to see and hang out with my dead-but-awake friends and family? Forever? Would there be some sort of Divine Judgment with two options, one of which I had earned? (I hope not.) Would the dead/awake me find myself in the ground being eaten by worms, or perhaps blowing in the wind over a lake in a cloud of ashes? Or if Hindus and Buddhists are right about reincarnation, would I have a choice of who or what I become? And would it happen without any time out before my transformation, and would I have time to participate in the decision of what or who is next for me? In any case, there would be lots to describe, and probably an eager audience.

 

            Assuming that I have some dead-awake time available before I am reassigned, and that I still would be interested in posting some blogs, what sort of writings would I want to post? Yes, there is the travel writing, describing what Hamlet calls “the undiscovered country from whose bourn / No traveler returns.” What else? Probably some good-byes if I didn’t have time (or inclination) to do that while I was alive. And maybe, for somewhat like me, an emotional unlocking – all the deep feelings that for some reason I keep bundled up, removed from other people and even myself, though I’m not sure what readers would be interested. And perhaps most importantly, I could use the blog posts to express my appreciation for the small daily miracles we can see (if we look) in other people – while we are alive.

 

            Maybe, in fact, “waking up dead” is what some of us need to do now, when we wake up to the possibility that we are, in some way, dead.

Disability

            Kim and I have what is called a “disability parking placard.” I know that’s what it’s called because I just looked it up, and A.I. told me. We usually call it our “handicap thing-y” that we try to remember to hang on our rear-view mirror. It features a bold outline of a wheelchair, as does the sign next to the disability parking place.

 

            We got our disability parking placard a couple of years ago when Kim was experiencing difficulties with her knees. We use it regularly, as parking in one of the marked places near the door of a store or office is more than just convenient – it’s often necessary.

 

            Do I use it to find a nice parking place when I’m out on my own, without Kim? Yes, but rarely – and I fake a limp when I get out of the car. The placard also helps me with one of my disabilities: I sometimes forget where I parked my car, and it helps if I can spot it from the door of the building.

 

            It’s fortunate that we have a disability parking place right outside the door to our condo entrance. What’s not so fortunate is that we are not the only disabled people to use that parking lot, so sometimes we have a bit further to walk. Or perhaps I improvise a parking place where none existed until we drove in to it. In fact, the ability to create a parking place where none existed before is one of my superpowers – the opposite of a disability.

 

            I think we should expand the practice of giving a break to people with disabilities, especially the disabilities associated with age. Cars being driven by geezers with disabled senior brains could have disability bumper stickers, mainly to warn other drivers that the car may wander a bit out of the lane, drive at an unsafe slow speed, turn abruptly when the driver spots a bathroom, neglect to signal turns, or just pause in the middle of the road while the driver tries to remember where he or she is going. Perhaps there should be geezer lanes on expressways, but also in cities.

 

            Cars driven by student drivers carry such bumper sticker warnings about the young driver – though those cars usually are driven better than average because there is a teacher riding shotgun. Kim rides shotgun for me, saying things like “There’s a stop sign,” or “The speed limit here is 40,” or “You just missed the parking lot,” or “Red light!!!!”

 

            But I digress. What was I saying . . .?

 

            

NO

                                                                

            Sometimes the smallest moment can make your day. We were in the new condo, setting things up and putting things away. My job was to go through our hundreds of CDs to choose which to keep and which to send to a new home. We had purchased a fancy little CD player which included a radio, clock, and probably some other stuff I have yet to discover.

 

            The device came with a remote with lots of buttons on it. One of them, labeled “OPEN / CLOSE,” was to be used insert and remove CDs. Well, perhaps predictably, when I attempted to play a CD, I pushed the wrong button. Immediately on the small screen where the clock had been there appeared the word “NO.”

 

            Somehow the simplicity of the message was very appealing. In my head I could hear the voice, perhaps an echo of the same word said to me numerous times over the last 83 years. My mind went to the engineer who programmed the “NO” into my machine. Did he have a tone of voice in mind? There was no exclamation point, though he did use all capital letters, and he did not add, “you idiot” to his message. Sometimes a simple “NO” is more than adequate.

 

            I’m not sure why this small event made my day. Perhaps it was the simplicity of the moment, so unlike the nuanced ambiguity that makes up so much of our communication these days . . ..

Rejected

 

            People often ask me how I come up with so many different subjects for my blog. Actually, nobody has ever asked me that, but they may have been thinking it.

 

            As part of the process, I usually consider several possibilities before choosing one, and as I write, I may swerve onto another subject. But there are some subjects that I simply consider and reject. Here are a few:

 

·      What do wealthy people look like? How can you tell? We actually had a conversation with a waitress on this subject, and she had plenty of ideas. So did we – but I don’t want to write about it because it would lead me to stereotyping, which I deplore. But you might want to come up with a few features on your own, without my help.

 

·      What stupid things have I done in my life? I have actually covered a lot of ground on this subject, so there is no need for a separate post.

 

·      President Trump? I believe that people read my stuff as an escape from current politics, and I apologize for even mentioning his name.

 

·      My sore knee? No, I don’t have a sore knee, but I don’t want the blog to be where an old guy describes aches and pains. Yes, we need support, and there is nothing wrong with asking for it. But I like Kim’s example – stoically soldiering through her pain and fatigue to look after me and our home.

 

·      Sex

 

·      Computer problems? These seem to be consuming a lot of my time, and probably yours, so the last thing you want to do is read about them.

 

·      The tongue: How amazing it is, if you stop to think about it. Perhaps this is best kept private.

 

·      Kids these days. I have a coaster that reads, “When I was your age, I had to walk 10 feet through shag carpet to change the TV channel.” We have probably heard enough of these. On the other hand, it might be fun to imagine kids confronting our old technology. Phone booth? Pencil sharpener? Conversation?

 

·      This one? Probably should have . . ..

 

 

Paper Copies

            Kim has encouraged me to start a new project: making paper copies of all my blog entries and poems. I bought a set of folders with thousands of plastic sleeves where I can insert the pages. I’ve mainly concentrated on the weekly blog pages, and I have now done up through 2023.

 

            Why am I doing this? For one thing, I have become increasingly aware of how things sometimes just disappear off of my computer. The Host of my blog recently changed hands, and for a while I could not find it, and now I can no longer get photos into my posts. I’m sure it can be done, but I don’t know how to do it. And if, for some reason I fail to make my monthly autopay to my blog host, I think the whole blog – years of weekly posts – will be gone. What a loss to civilization! But wait – I have these hard copies, so all is saved (unless we have a fire).

 

            The process has been enjoyable. I have not reread any of my precious blog entries through, but seeing them and reading a few patches reminds me of the pleasure of writing them. I’m glad I enjoy them, but I am not vain enough to imagine anyone else wanting to read them, except perhaps family members with a lot of time on their hands. 

 

            The poems are another matter. I just re-read and typed a few love poems I wrote to Kim in 1994, and I was impressed – not by the quality of the poems, which could use some editing, but by the open emotionalism that today I find difficult. Here’s a sample, written in 1994:

 

            Cloud  Moon  Sun  Star

 

            You shift like a cloud

            making all the greens

            here on my earth

            modulate. Golds

            deepen, then dazzle.

 

            You are my moon,

            whose unseen gravity

            pulls me to high tide.

            I measure time by

            your face—silver, gold,

            haloed in mist. You

            call out night creatures.

 

            Serene life source.

            But your sunstorms

            burst into solar winds

            to collide with belts

            of radiant air. Your

            art is our home’s

            aurora borealis.

 

            Sometimes I star gaze

            from a safe distance.

            Surrounded by your

            daily rose beauties,

            I need the comfort

            of invisibility to help

            me reach across space

            and draw you near.

 

These will be fun to explore.

 

            I suppose that a big appeal of saving these writings is an attempt to leave my mark on the world – the kind of thing you think about when you get old. Kim has kept things – articles of clothing, pieces of jewelry, some old photographs and letters – that connect her to her father, grandparents, and other parts of her family history. These things are a way these people live on. And Kim has made her own mark on the world – through her artwork, but perhaps even more, through the homes we have designed and built, and then left behind to enrich the world – the Bark House, the Riverwood house in Ypsilanti, the Paynes Prairie house in Florida, and a significant remodel of our Craftsman Bungalow in Saline, Michigan. These homes are mainly Kim’s work, and the world is a better place because of them.

 

            I leave the world my writings. I don’t think providing amusement is a path to immortality, but that’s what I have. And the paper can always be recycled.