Blog
#434 July
3, 2025
I’m
feeling old. No, it’s not because my
pacemaker battery needs replacement, and it’s not because every flavor of
ice-cream I ever liked has been discontinued.
No, the reason I’m feeling old is Taco Bell. I should explain. Someone had told my wife that there was an
avocado something-or-other at Taco Bell that she would like. So, one night last week, we went. We entered the restaurant so we could look at
a menu and ask some questions. But
instead, we found a sign instructing us that we must place our order at the
handy-dandy computerized kiosk. I went
to the counter to ask a question but got no response from any of the people
working there. So we tried the kiosk. It was impossible. My wife and I are not stupid. At least that’s what we thought before
entering this exercise in mental torture.
Now, I’m sure any normal eight-year-old can order their favorite
taco-schmaco with no trouble at all, but to an almost-octogenarian with reading
glasses who was unfamiliar with the menu to begin with – not possible. I was frustrated. I was embarrassed. I was furious that there was no-one to ask
for help. We left and went through the
Drive-Thru (they can’t even spell “through” right). At least someone there would have to speak to
us. And she did, a lovely young woman
from Bangladesh. We could not understand
one word she said. Besides which, the
speaker through which her lovely voice emerged was salvaged from the
Titanic. Why, in this era of
highly-engineered sound equipment, can’t they make an adequate drive-thru
speaker? It was a horrible, demeaning
experience. “The world is too much
with us,” wrote William Wordsworth.
I’m pretty sure he wrote that right after visiting a Taco Bell.
The
next morning, I was scheduled for a CT scan.
I arrived at the hospital, only to find that I was required to register
at a computerized kiosk. Oy! I did the best I could, and I must have done
okay, because they gave me the CT scan – and a chicken quesadilla.
Hi
there and welcome back. I hope for are
feeling well and enjoying the weather. In
St. Louis, we have two seasons – Winter and my wife’s birthday. Starting in late June and ending in
September, the birthday feting is continuous. Yesterday was Carol’s actual birthday. I won’t tell you how old she is, but she
looks half her age. Her birthday is the
beginning of a months-long saturnalia of lunches, brunches, dinners, parties,
festivals, soirees and celebrations which will involve more revelers than the Bezos
wedding. My wife gets taken out more
than the trash. Well, why not? It’s not every day you turn – oops, I almost
let the cat out of the bag. No, not you,
Shakespeare. Relax.
Summer
is always the season to take to the streets in protest to something or
other. This year, they’re complaining
about immigration policy and abortion laws and any number of things. Have you noticed that most of the
demonstrators are young? Now, I don’t
want to complain. The world has an
over-abundant supply of self-pity and I really don’t need to add to it, but the
truth is that we seniors have plenty to complain about. Taxes, Social Security, health care, aching
backs, salt – but what can we do about it, riot? Can you just picture a bunch of old people
marching the streets chanting: WHAT DO WE WANT? WE FORGOT.
WHEN DO WE WANT IT? WE FORGOT
THAT TOO.
We’d loot and we’d burn and we’d riot
Except we are too old to try it.
If the Cops told us Halt
We would never assault --
‘Cause we’re on a no-assault diet.
Message
from Shakespeare, the three-legged cat: I
love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest
(Much
Ado About Nothing). We cats should
protest. CAT
LIVES MATTER, PURR.
Let’s do the Weekly Word. A saturnalia is a period of general merrymaking, which is
every Thursday, of course, when you receive my goofy blog.
And tomorrow will be
another period of general merrymaking as it is Independence Day, which
celebrates the adoption of The Declaration of Independence. Enjoy the fireworks and the barbecue. Don’t get burned by a sparkler or stay up too
late. I don’t have any nostalgic stories
about the Fourth of July. My parents
used to take me every year to Washington University, where we would sit in the
bleachers and watch what to a small child in the 1950s was a mesmerizing and
glorious display of magical lights in the sky.
Then to Pevely Dairy to eat an ice-cream cone and watch the pretty
colored fountain. Wow, that was seventy
years ago and more.
At the Zoo, the weather was fine and there was a
nice steady flow of tourists. I saw one
young woman standing by the Aldabra Giant Tortoises. Aldabra is one of the Seychelles Islands. If that’s not helpful, the Seychelles are in
the Indian Ocean. What? – I hear you
cry. Seychelles? Tortoises? What is that wordy old fool rambling about
now? You should already know that I read
strange books and am a “diligent student of the impractical and the largely
useless”. That’s what they said about
Herodotus, and who remembers him? Actually,
he was a Greek who wrote the first history of the world around 380 BC. You’d think there wasn’t much history to
write about back then, but he was somehow prolific.
Anyway, the young woman was
upset because her young son, whom she was holding, had knocked her sunglasses
off into the tortoise enclosure. There
they were, eight inches from a 600-pound tortoise. It wasn’t possible to lean over and get them,
so I told her to wait, and I found a security guy. He was young and serious looking, and I
didn’t want to disturb him, but when I told him the situation, he jumped into
action, called the reptile house and summoned a keeper out into the tortoise
enclosure. The keeper retrieved the
glasses and gave the tortoise three loving smacks on the shell. Everyone was happy.
And you’re probably happy
too, now that I’m done for this week.
But I’ll be back next week. So enjoy
your Fourth of July. Stay safe and well. And count your blessings.
Michael Send
comments to mfox1746@gmail.com
