The Culture that has been here all the time

This was supposed to be the time my wife and I sat on the porch, held hands, and reminisced.

Hollywood mythology?

The best we can do is roll with the punches and make lemonade from lemons.

My late wife's favorite song: 

OK, it is an old cliché, but let me ask anyway: are you the kind of person who judges (or even buys) a book because the cover sold you?

When it comes to judging people, it is a very bad practice; I know I was victimized by it. I will list them:

1. In NYC 1967, I decided to cut my hair and was tagged as an undercover cop, bad vibes. Made it out alive.

2. In the 1960s, many people thought my long hair and mod dress meant I was gay, but I was not.

3. When my life was centered on one of my bands and my second wife, she thought I was cheating because of some songs I wrote. I didn't cheat.

4. In the 1990s, my wife and I went to different churches separately for a time; people gossiped that we must have been divorced, but we were not. Small and large churches appealed to us in different ways.

5. Living in a strange place as a widower may cause some people to suspect that I am different in a negative way. They do not know me, and too many people do not spend time with older people so they will never get to know me.

Yes, BDSM has opened up my curiosity, but maybe too late since I am old now.

I have had positives and negatives in my life, so those who pointed out that I have had more love than many people, I should be satisfied and should not expect more. My good, bad account is in balance. There is no guarantee for more love, a new lover, or even a companion.

Unfortunately, this perspective robbed me of any hope for finding love and joy again. I now understand that I am on the long and winding road to Elenore Rigby's house.

No preaching from me, this is about genuine love between mates.

There is nothing better than having a lover who accepts you as you are without disregarding your genuine flaws that should be corrected. Instead, their embrace is comforting, healing, and a source of positive encouragement.

Who is perfect? Not me.

Yes, love covers a multitude of sin but not necessarily condones or excues them.

Unconditional love improves both people engaged in it.

When I finally realized my loss of my wife after caregiving for so long has imprinted a significant emotional scar, I now must admit I have a form of PTSD. I will talk to my VA doctor today.

The most disruptive issue is the hip discomfort, so resuming Acetaminophen at the acceptable dose is working well. I have regained some sense of normalcy since resuming the med.

Nothing more than that.

Illness, health concerns, emotional (cranky, no hopeful plan). Yes, the complications from my wife's death, lack of friends visiting, and my family vanishing. My cat and dog are with me, and I have art projects when I feel engaged.

For about a week, I attempted to wean myself off ibuprofen and acetaminophen, and that seems to be a bad choice. Moving around the house, finding a comfortable sleeping position is hindered. Careful dosing is better. 

Nothing alleviates loneliness.

Is it my imagination, or have many mainstream news sources adopted a tabloid-type style? Even so much that serious weather forecasts are delivered with tongue-in-cheek tidbits inserted. New clichés: Scientists are terrified...  Scientists are worried... Something is happening on the __________ (fill in the blank). Old news stories presented as fresh. The war is over, the war is on, the war has begun again . . . .

The Movie Sipping News will give you some idea:

Billy: It's finding the center of your story, the beating heart of it, that's what makes a reporter. You have to start by making up some headlines. You know: short, punchy, dramatic headlines. Now, have a look, what do you see?
[Points at dark clouds at the horizon]
Billy: Tell me the headline.
Quoyle: Horizon Fills With Dark Clouds?
Billy: Imminent Storm Threatens Village.
Quoyle: But what if no storm comes?
Billy: Village Spared From Deadly Storm.

My mind always seems to be full of ideas, so I must consider which one would be a good one to post and achieve either a personal point or a general, useful point.

Exploring unfamiliar things stimulates and engages my mind. Sometimes it also inspires learning a new skill. Playing guitar led to electric guitar, steel guitar, keyboards, banjo, mandolin, and even writing songs. Oh, yes, harmonica too. Collecting Victorian novels, engaging in philosophy, and expanding my horticulture knowledge are some examples.

In the past four months, I collected my artwork and materials and became reacquainted with what I knew and what I wanted to learn.

I have used pastels, colored pencils, oil paints, acrylic paints, and watercolor paints. I engage extensively in watercolor and acrylic. I added gouache and casein paints to the mix. The learning curve reveals pluses and minuses as always. So, I have returned to focus on watercolor with mixed mediums. I invested in professional-grade colors and brushes that are currently highly regarded.

Like playing guitar, cutting the lawn, and now painting, all this activity is good for me as aging challenges my abilities. Use it or lose it, but using it keeps you healthier in more ways than one. My forte is thinking through a project, planning it, testing it, and executing it. This works well for me, probably my liberal arts education shining through. Tests of Windsor Newton oil paints.

There are several reasons I didn't like the senior center in town, mostly personal and trivial reasons.

The crowd seemed older than me, though it could be just my mindset.

Many of the conversations proved to be politically offensive to me.

I asked if anyone played chess. The answer I got was "Checkers".

The array of activities? I enjoy music (eclectic), drama, museums, and even simple countryside rides with a close partner, not a host of strangers.

I could go on, but it will only widen the gap with the fabric of the society here and my uniqueness. Perhaps I have been spoiled, or perhaps my flaws get in the way.

I didn't fit in with the crowd who frequents the senior center. This was my fourth try. I give up. 

I would be better off finding a Hippie Farm. Play my guitar and sing sixties songs

OK, I am seventy-eight, but I am still much more lively than that bunch, and we have very little in common.