No, no, no, not true! On the contrary, so long as you continue to do all the things you really want to do and enjoy doing, you are bound very likely to live to be 100.
Monday, July 28, 2014
Sunday, July 27, 2014
Saturday, July 26, 2014
Similarity is not identity. Whatever simulates inevitably dissimulates. So, fiction fibs, as does any narration by embellishment or abridgment, and so does any figurative representation, always incorporating the author’s point of view by design or default. See my Fibbing World.
Saturday, July 19, 2014
Wars, large and small, are waged all over the world, and they seem never to cease. Hatred is at the root of all fights, from squabbles to shouting matches, fist fights, shooting, and to gunning riot and raging wars. Anger, unrestrained, leads to hatred, and escalating hatred to violence; and wars in turn promote hatred. This is self-evident and yet history woefully proves that the world could never free itself of wars.
Thursday, July 10, 2014
Two days ago, when, standing in line at the ladies room, I came to the springing door and tried to take it over from a young woman before me to hold it with my elbow and back, she said with a look of concern: “I’ll hold it; it’s heavy. You look frail.” Surely, I don’t look sturdy, never did, but it took me by surprise that I looked so frail. It is true, however, I’m lately finding heavy doors hard to push and even when I use a revolving door I wait to find someone to go in front of me or from the other side so that I can enter without pushing.
Saturday, July 5, 2014
Whenever Mother started to talk with a stranger on the street, I -- at my kindergarten age -- would pull her kimono sleeve to signal her to quit, until she’d turn to me and say, “Don’t do that.” Afterwards, she would admonish me: “Don’t pull my sleeve when I’m talking with someone,” and I’d retort, “You don’t know her, do you?”
I was particularly irritated in embarrassment if I heard or sensed that the conversation had to do with me, like “such a shy child,” “very good in arithmetic,” or even something innocuous as “just turned seven last month.” Any little attention directed to me made me uncomfortable; that is what being shy means, certainly. Through my school years I remained shy and did not make friends easily. Everyone is a stranger before one becomes acquainted. A stranger becomes an acquaintance once we strike a conversation; but that first step of being talked to, not to speak of talking to, was almost a torture for me. No less easy was taking the steps from acquaintance to friendship, which happened invariably being coaxed into it rather than initiating it myself. Conversely, in consequence, I would not let go anyone, once she or he is a friend and hang doggedly on the old familiarity like holding on Mother’s protective sleeve or skirt.
Reflecting on the last decades of my life, I realize that I have not changed appreciatively. I am more subtle in my shy behavior, or, perhaps, more tactful in social situations. I can smile and look friendly. But I am still less than comfortable at parties when most people are strangers; I then search out a friend or acquaintance and cling to her or him to avoid circulating, aware though I am that parties are for getting people to mix and mingle and make new acquaintances and that is what sociable people love about parties. I am more comfortable socializing with friends one on one. In fact, it also occurs to me that of my friends I can say that I did not initiate their friendship; thankfully they did.
Pang of melancholy hits, sitting in the house alone, perhaps idly, in half light as at dusk; it hits harder waking after dozing involuntarily and becoming keenly aware of the stillness of the place. So, to avoid such situation of loneliness, it is advisable to keep the room well lit, have a radio or television turned on and stay awake and alert but, above all, get up and keep busy moving about.