Friday Letter 10/5/07

When we first moved up the street, I began trying to figure out who our new neighbors were.

One of them was Beth, an elderly widow who was at that time still driving. One day, I saw her at the grocery store and I went up and boldly introduced myself as her new neighbor.

She looked at me with a sort of vacant gaze and said, "I'm sorry to seem rude, but I just can't meet any more new people."

Beth, may her soul rest in peace, inspires me to work a little bit here on the topic of senile dementia or Alzheimer's or "Old Timer's" disease.

Since I'm now 65, I know this: As one ages, one's memory is increasingly called into question. Perhaps this is reasonable. Perhaps it's simply age discrimination.

Everyone forgets. Young or old. Memory is not the absolute we once believed it was. Forgiveness is different than forgetfulness. There are many things in anyone's mind he would like to forget.

There are facts we no longer must remember. Telephone numbers -- who remembers a phone number these days? We just punch a button or two.

Sometimes, like our neighbor Beth, we just don't want any more detail. It's not like the brain is "full," but the soul is a cup running over. For myself, there is a lot I just don't want to know any more, so I don't watch television or go to movies, or keep up with sports. I'm done.

The brain is a lot like the rest of the body: gotta use it or you'll lose it. I entrust a bunch of detail to Laura's memory, and that's not good for either of us.

Every once in a while, I MUST remember something on my own or I'll lose the ability. I'll start this tomorrow, if I can just remember.

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I don't believe in germs. I think ''germs'' is a concept doctors thought up to explain something they couldn't explain. Then, when things got harder to explain, they invented viruses.

With that kind of mindset, you'd think I'd be hard to persuade about belief in God. The Devil brought me to belief. I have seen his work, up close and dirty. So I realized if there is a Satan, there is a God. Satan's work enabled me to see the work of God.

But I'm back to square one with concepts like the oil shortage. I don't believe in that. I think the earth is a huge organic structure which continues to produce oil. One day, the earth may be compromised in some way that will inhibit production of oil. But for now, go ahead and buy your $3 gasoline and tromp that pedal to the metal. I do.

There's more oil where that came from.

Global warming? You guessed it, I don't believe in that either. Today it's cool outside. Yesterday it was hot. The earth does that. Global warming is the wrong term.

We should call it "Global Whining." The concept is related directly to the ecocrats, the masterminds of the lesbian vegetarian gay fruitfly agenda. Mark my words, these loop-de-loops are out to take over, and they're rapidly gaining ground.

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At long last, most hospitals have ruled out tobacco smoking on premises. It has been obvious for years that it was just dumb for health care professionals to stand around in hospitals, in their scrubs, smoking cigarettes. The "no-no" signs are finally up at Northern Colorado Medical Center.

But along with that came a prohibition that surprises me: Balloons are outlawed.

No balloons in hospitals? Will this mean that clowns themselves will soon be outlawed? I am sure glad, however, that I am protected from "latex sensitivity."

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Developers have built a huge collection of rental apartments in Evans, a Greeley suburb.

The idea, we're told, is that University of Northern Colorado students will flock there in droves each fall to take up their temporary Greeley area residences.

Maybe.

Think back a few years to the time when that big downtown hotel south of the Greeley Tribune finally gave up the ghost.

"We're going to rent this out to UNC students," they said.

Wrong. Some UNC children may live there. But I've been inside visiting a friend and I don't see 'em. I see "section eight" (housing assistance) people. It's an eight-story tenement. It even smells like a slum in there. (I know. I'm from Fort Lupton.)

Watch the new complex in Evans. See if I'm not right. I call it "Instant Slum." Give it about three years.

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As a youngster, I was told my racial heritage is Irish, mostly.

My dad had Irish Pride. Laura's dad had Irish Pride.

It's lost on me. Along with Indian Pride, Black Pride, Chicano Pride, Pioneer Pride.

I can't seem to drum up a drop of pride for something with which I had nothing to do. It's not my fault I'm "Irish" by descent. There's probably nothing to be ashamed of, being of Irish heritage. But pride? I'm colder than a frozen mackerel.

Laura's dad never got to visit the Emerald Isles. He sure wanted to go. My dad did get to go. My brother, bless his heart, said there was already enough blarney right there in Brighton. But Dad went anyway, to kiss the Blarney Stone. Good for him. But to me, the "old country," is Fort Lupton.

Ireland? Frawnce? The Continent? Naw. Take me instead to San Luis in southern Colorado. I'll walk the long hill of the Stations of the Cross, and I'll be happy, I'll be at home. It's somewhere I want to go.

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Word of the week: Serendipity. A word coined by Horace Walpole around 1754 after his tale "The Three Princes of Serendip,'' i/e. Ceylon. It means an apparent aptitude for making fortunate discoveries accidentally.

Next week's word: Kismet.

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Gripes? Complaints? Whines? or Comments? Adoration? Puppy love? Feel free to express yourself with the comments below.