TRIP TO THE OPTOMETRIST

Not very often do I get to be around people more my own age. Well, maybe more than my age. More like “elderly” and up to really old. The old enough to warrant a care-giver, or as I call them, Keepers.

Today was a trip to the eye doc for a yearly exam and a short wait in the waiting-room with other patients. Most were on their cell phones, a few were just staring off into the space in front of them and a little ole lady with a voice that could peel the varnish off a violin with volume to match. She said she was surprised that this place looks so different than the last time. Her keeper said, in a normal tone of voice and volume, “That was the heart doctors office.” pause.. she then said she had some candy that she would eat afterward and you know she had to hide it when the kids come over? The eye assistant called her name and she was aided into the inner sanctum of the medical system.

The rest of us returned to our phones and idle chat. At least I was listening to the conversation across from me while playing my phones Solitaire. The guy with the Santa Claus beard was telling the ‘staring into space’ lady next to him that he was 69 years old, plays Santa at Roaring Camp, a musician, has a band, pilot, lawyer, Indian chief….and I lost interest. Lamest pick-up line I ever heard. I couldn’t tell if he was making any headway as the lady only blinked as she retreated further into herself. Santa was on a roll and kept his patter going as I returned to my Solitaire game.

Heard a guy checking in at the desk behind me being asked his name and date of birth. “John -mumble-, 1954—wheeze.”  Admitted, I felt him sit down behind me so I didn’t see much other than the quick glimpse when he said 1954. That puts him 12 years younger than me! Life has not been kind to John -mumble-. “wheeze.”

My time in purgatory was cut short soon because my name was called to see the doc. I did a scan of the waiting room as I left, to see what we all looked liked. Some a little older than others and most all white or grey haired. Lets just say, “People of a Certain Age” Can’t guess at the older 'candy' ladies age but I put it near a century. Maybe 90’s for sure just by her voice.

I know than when I look out from inside me, I still see myself, mentally, as a physical 35 year old. My body doesn’t see it the same way so it complains just to be irritable. Having this daily dose of unreality, I kind of live in that fantasy so when I see people not even near my same age; decrepit looking and physically debilitated, old looking like my grandparents always looked...I wonder?

I wonder what it is that they see when they look out from themselves? Perhaps the “staring off into space” lady was experiencing the first time the foot ball hero asked her to the prom and how exciting it was and how she lost her virginity that night? “ "...and then I was an astronaut..walked on the moon ya know…”

Eye exam went well. Slight case of cataracts, no Mac-degenerating, healthy eyeball things. My shooting eye needs a little correction so my perfection of sight will still be better than most. Those are the ones that drive extremely slower than me because they have no depth perception Like our car, Lex, has this built in warning system when one is close to another vehicle. Or bush. Or stop sign or light pole. Bicyclist  pedestrians. You name it, anything denser than steam sets it off! 

It has me so rattled that I get nervous parking and end up diagonal to the parking lines, Then the front and back warning sirens begin and I have to re-park not much better than the first attempt.

Driving with dilated eyes is a real treat. One must do it, like ever so Never!

USMC Boot Camp

Red Sweat Shirts and Yellow Foot Prints

I have noticed that the posts about the yellow footprints at the recruit depots have folks that remember them and those that don’t. If any of you guys were like me, noticing and remembering said yellow footprints was the last thing on our mind during those first hours.

MCRD on February 8^th, 1960 was my destination. Flying in from Detroit via Chicago during a snowstorm was exciting and arriving in San Diego was absolutely wonderful. Warm weather and a nice Marine invited us to board his 6X in front of the airport. His words were “Get in the truck, spit out that gum, no talking, keep your arms inside the vehicle at all time and all I want to see are assholes and elbows! Now MOVE!”

I was the last in the 6X so I had a seat looking out the rear. Behind us, on the way to the depot, was a white 1958 convertible Cadillac with a beautiful blond driving. I sort of waved and she waved back. I’ve been in love with San Diego ever since.

The Extraterrestrial Hwy

The Extraterrestrial Hwy

Hwy 375

We turned off of Hwy 6 onto Nevada 375 at an intersection called Warm Springs that consists of a closed Bar & Grill, a mine entrance, 2 abandoned miners cabins, a stone corral and a guy dressed in bicycle riding colors having a cigarette in the shadows of the Bar & Grill waiting for, who knows.

Warm Springs

Took some photos and began our drive eastbound on the Extraterrestrial Highway. As with most secondary highways in the Nevada wilderness, Hwy 375 is a black ribbon that curves through passes and runs straight and true when able to do so. Nevada has more mountains than any other state so hills pop up every so often making the road builders cease making straight lines.

Adolescent Memories

Cooking pork chops this evening reminded me of when I was about 12 or 13 years old. I had a nickname of Pork Chop for a few months.

Somehow or another, there came to be a neighborhood group of adults that got together and formed a few things for us youngsters to do outside of the summer break from school. Don’t know what it was for the females but it was basketball for us males.

I sort of knew the rules of the game, so was invited to join up with the squad being formed. My mother must have okayed it since she figured I couldn’t get hurt, too much. After all, the game consists of running back and forth and making a score.

Tales of the Brass Monkey Oldies But Goodies II (See previous post)

Tales of the Gold/Brass Monkey

Another of those dusty memories came to me while I was lying around thinking so I bought a DVD set of the 1982 television production of its version of Indiana Jones.

When the pilot was being made as Tales of the Brass Monkey, it was discovered that there is a bar in the Far East called The Brass Monkey. To avoid legal difficulties, they changed the name to Gold.  In the first episode, a supposedly solid gold statue of a monkey is discovered. Turned out it's really brass. Sneaky way to infer gold for brass.

Tales of the Gold Monkey is an action adventure, international intrigue, exotic locals, handsome leading man, central casting sidekick, beautiful woman and a dog that communicates with one bark for yes, two barks for no. Or vice versa, it depends on how the dog feels.

Oldies But Goodies

Oldies But Goodies

Back in the dark ages, when I was an adolescent, the afternoon matinees were 25 cents, which got you in and a box of popcorn. The local bijou was just around the corner, on Vernor Ave., from where I was living in Detroit. I’m sure it is long gone.

The matinees were serials like Don Winslow of the Navy, The Shadow, Terry and the Pirates, Drums of Fu Manchu, Adventures of Red Ryder and much much more. Since this was the late 40’s, films of the second war to end all wars were still being made with the usual villains. I can still picture the evil mad Nazi doctor with the electric zap machine confounding the inept G-men until the last episode.

All good things must come to an end like cartoons at the beginning of a film and double features. However, I recently was able to purchase a video of an old TV show from the 1950’s. Some of you are thinking how quaint there was film last century. It’s true, even some was in color, or what passes for color.

M&M's trip to San Francico

The M&M's went up to the City today to see the places we misses three weeks ago when I twisted my ankle at the Marine Corps Ball the night before. So, at 9:30am, off we went up Hwy 1 in misty fog.