history

MIA

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Unlike Mitch was for 50 days, I have not been missing in action and have a full cadre of witnesses to attest I’m ambulatory and cognizant. Admittedly, I am missing a few parts, like a foot of intestine, an inch of my height, and the true color of my hair. But earlier this week, I found out I was missing something else: collagen!

Duh. I need only to look in the mirror at my wrinkles and wonder who that old gal is staring back. In this case, though, it had a new twist, when I went for my appointment–at the tattoo parlor. “You must be Sue; you have an appointment at noon. Did you bring a picture of what you want done?”

I handed him a copy. “I want it done here,” I said, as I pointed to my upper arm.

He took my arm and gently rubbed it. “Hmm. You know at your age you lack collagen, so the tattoo ink might seep. You see how your other tattoo is blurry? That’s because the dermis becomes thin and loses its structure. The ink particles tend to move around or migrate.”

WTH? Migrating ink in my dermis?

“So I want you to understand your tattoo may not be as vivid and vibrant because of your age.”

Oh, ye gods, a twenty+ year-old, heavily-inked dude with a pierced nose is talking to me like he is a physician and like I am a child. “I understand; let’s do it.”

Thirty minutes later, I walked out of the parlor, sporting my 8th tat. Quite frankly, I don’t care if my new addition blurs or goes south for the winter with the Monarch butterflies. I had to get this done and am very glad I opted out of my 60th-year high school reunion yesterday. I would have been embarrassed for my classmates to see that I’d lost my collagen!

66-26

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Before you crazed, conspiracy theorists get your knickers in a knot, my blog is neither an elementary schoolyard chant, nor a death threat. It’s about high school graduation–you know it’s that time of year when hopefully, most teens manage to earn a diploma. Somehow I did in 1966. Sixty years ago!

Sixty years ago we had: rotary-dial phones that plugged into the wall, transistor radios, and black and white TV’s. We knew how to read our analog watches, return soda bottles to the grocery, load film in our cameras, and use a map if we were lost. We learned to type on a manual typewriter, calculate with a slide rule, and use the card catalog, encyclopedias, and dictionaries. The vast majority of our parents kept us under watchful eye. We were expected to be polite and respectful. We were expected to go to church. And if we got in trouble at school, our parents rarely debated our innocence.

And while I was elated to graduate in 1966, my guy friends faced the uncertainty of being drafted and sent to Vietnam. Food prices soared sparking protests and picket lines around grocery stores. Little did we know that our thriving city would die a slow, painful death eight years later when all of the steel mills closed. Thankfully, NO member of our 400+ class is on the Vietnam War Memorial. Thankfully, over half of us are still alive and struggling through health problems, operating our frustrating high-tech devices, and bragging about our kids and grandchildren.

Even though I’m old, I have great faith in the future. Just as I was sixty years ago, 2026 graduates are faced with uncertain times, rising prices, war, and serious socio-economic and environmental issues. But please know the majority of we oldsters are rooting for you to confront and confound these issues and to champion peace. Congratulations.

POTUS

/ skidaz / Leave a comment

Though not a college history major, I bill myself as a “continuing student” of the subject. Unfortunately, schools tend to teach English, Art, Music, and History as separate subjects; it just makes so much more sense when all of them are taught together. For example, one can’t really grasp A Tale of Two Cities, nor Oliver Twist, without a knowledge of history at the time. However, this is an aside to my blog today, which concerns Executive Orders–those ordered by POTUS with a stroke of a pen.

Now I don’t know about you, but there’s a number of things about which I’m concerned–and it ain’t the price of eggs! It’s about the climate, the abject disregard for science and medicine, the abolishment of special education and school food service, the wipe-out of university research grants, the random firing of qualified professionals, the flip-flop tariffs, and the supposed declaration of martial law on 4/20. (An absurd “smoking idea.”)

Executive order: NO more paper straws! Frankly, I could care less about straws since they would be odd in beer bottles. However, paper straws are ecologically preferred over the plastic ones that kill off our wildlife.

Executive order: Gulf of America! Really? Who cares? I’m too old to change that tune.

Executive order: No more low pressure shower heads. A ludicrous, infantile mandate from a very obese Lothario who is unable to wash away his dalliances without copious amounts of water.

Executive orders: Dismantle departments, terminate any one who disagrees, tax penguins, etc.

To this “student of history,” it seems that The President of the United States has much more pressing issues than these inane executive orders. Issues like, “beautiful bag of groceries,” winning a golf tournament, or the superlative results of his health exam where he’s been declared the smartest, best, greatest, healthiest 78-year-old in the world. (Curious, when one of his professors at Wharton labeled him the “most stupid person he ever taught.” Think about it. Why else would he have threatened to sue UPenn if they released his college transcripts?)

Since none of us are infallible, we will stand in judgment in front of St. Peter and/or historians. Sadly, as future generations engage in their study of US Presidents, the monikers of Honest Abe, Father of our Country, and The Great Society, will pale when children read about the 47th President, dubbed PT Barnum and The Greatest, Golden American Liar.