That Dying Thing

 How do we know we are dying? Well, I guess the most honest answer is, “well, we don’t know, until we are nearly dead.” It seems that, barring a drastic thing like cancer, or being hit by a car, or a stray bullet, there is no definite signal. But there are lots of little signals. Like what? Oh, we are a little unsteady while walking. Or, when we bend over, we begin to acquire some dizziness. Or we experience some shortness of breath while walking or climbing.  Arguably, the continued introduction and use of various medical pills is also a good sign. See, we are trying artificially to maintain the body’s usual functional capabilities.

But all such signs could introduce themselves when we are 30, or 40. We don’t have to be 80 or 90. Now, I come from a family in which all members ceased existing by the latest 85. And my memories of those folks are always of “old people”. But, since they all died when I was still pretty young, all of my memories are those of 5-20 somethings observing 60 – 80 somethings.

But now, I’m 90 and my dear wife is 89. And we are still cranking ahead, even to working out several times a week.  We even have a weekly “Datenite”, when we go to our local brewpub and have a beer, some dinner, and some pleasant conversation with close friends. So, is that “Old”?  Well, not really, but we are now definitely “Old”.

But are we “Dying”? Well, yeah, of course, but aren’t we all?

But that isn’t what bothers me. No. What bothers me is having an idiot-malenfant as our President, during this maybe final stage of our lives.  See my first political memories are listening to the radio at maybe age 5 or 6, while FDR chatted to us. I actually and vividly remember FDR telling us about December 7^th and the Pearly Harbor bombing, that started WW II. Yeah, I sat on the floor in our Second Avenue, Manhattan railroad flat with the radio next to me on our front room floor and listened.

And now I have to pay attention to this fascist clown, who may be the dumbest human on the planet, lie to me about crowds gathering in LA. And that makes me scared   . . . scared that I might die before this idiot leaves our planet.  See, I’ve lived through a lot of Presidents. Think Nixon, and Shrub, and Reagan for heaven’s sake.  Course, we also had Ike, and Kennedy, and Truman, and Johnson. Were the latter all perfect? No, of course not, but they were genuinely trying to keep America safe and a decent place to live. Trump, on the other hand, doesn’t care. He wants only to be treated like a king. But he keeps acting like a nasty, spoiled little five-year-old, who is always whining and crying.

And so, I live, day by day, watching this idiot, and hoping maybe he will fall down the stairs and not recover. Horrible? Yep, I know. I’m awful, but I keep thinking about our Great Grandchildren and what kind of world they might have if this idiot doesn’t soon leave.  See, he is old enough to have a sudden heart attack. I mean, he is fat, as well as stupid. So, maybe we will luck out and he will experience a stroke, or some such. But can’t it happen while I am still breathing air on this planet of ours??? Yeah, so he goes out, and then I can relax. Oh, but one other thing??? Maybe a stroke or heart attack could mangle Vance as well. That would be nice.

So, breathe on folks. We all need to survive this idiot-malenfant. Smile, have a nice glass of wine. Breathe slowly and deeply, and smile . . . oh and sip on that wine. Yeah chill.