Marc Kuhn's Blog

4greWDSÇ 

Yes, for one more time, but for this blog it is a final time: thank you all…and to you all, goodbye.

marc

Okay, here’s a rare consumer advice edition to Marc’s Blog.  Now, right away, I expect tons of you (are you a ton…or just pounds?) to immediately call me a dummy or worse and tell me anyone with half a brain wouldn’t make the mistake I am warning you about.  So, in my pay-it-forward state of mind I will take the insults and offer the advice anyway.  It just saved me $25 a month I’ve been paying for several months now without knowing it.  Oh, now maybe I have some interest stirring.

First of all, you should know I am super anal about keeping my finances in order, I like to brag that if you asked me to produce the receipt for almost any purchase I made with a card in the past seven years, I can likely produce the hard copy within ten minutes. Yep, that anal.

BUT, even I get to be too hasty from time to time and the Internet is a minefield of money mishaps that can occur at any time no matter how diligent you think you are.  Since I had the time and mindset this evening to do one of my infrequent checks of where all my precious money is or was, I discovered two items totaling about $25 a month that I was needlessly paying.

Both of these items were the result of my recklessly buying things on the internet and inadvertently clicking on something I shouldn’t have.  I either didn’t take the time to examine what it was I was clicking on, or the retailer was being a little sneaky when I was busy making a purchase.  Either way, the result was the same: I had given permission for a sum of money to be delivered to them monthly, no questions asked. Fortunately, both of my new benefactors did not give me a hard time when I called.  They readily agreed to right my mistake and refund my money.  Lucky me.

So, what do you do with those bank statements and credit card bills you get every month?  Put them in the closest drawer or, worse yet, trashcan?  If you are one prone to trust everyone, including yourself, to toss your hard-earned dollars around without checking things every once in a while, then I have one of those infamous bridges for sale that may interest you.  In the meantime, call me stupid and I’ll accept the criticism…at least until I’m smart enough to set some time aside to do the math!   

*****

Perhaps one or two of you may have noticed I’ve been away for a few weeks. In fact, I think this is the longest my blog has gone without being updated for its 10+ years.  Maybe it’s the new year getting off to a sluggish start, or maybe just plain old writer’s block, but I’ve been escaping lately–escaping thinking about where I am in life and what lies ahead. 

When you reach your 70s your mind takes a turn, for about a full 180 degrees.  Now, much time is spent on thinking about the past and when your thoughts turn to the future, especially if you have survived a pretty challenging physical disaster, well, you don’t think about that next promotion or new car or where to spend next summer’s vacation.  Nope, most of your thoughts dwell on taking care of your physical needs and simply maintaining a decent day-to-day routine of keeping busy and keeping positive.  It goes without saying, for obvious reason, that death is an ongoing wonderment…wondering about when and things that should be getting done now to ease the burden on those who have to carry on afterwards.  It’s a challenge.

I am very fortunate in having a wife who is still able to drive me around, get me in and out of those motorized shopping carts at the store and eat most of what I cook for dinner.  She usually does the dishes to boot.  I also have a few friends who consume lots of phone conversations that help pass the time and give you a sense of having people you care about and they you.

But that’s about it.  There is no job, no office, no meetings to attend and projects to work on.  It’s these things that give you purpose in life, even if some of them are more chore than labor of love. There are more things I would like to do, but my physical limitations do exactly that—limit.  While I have declared my book writing to have run its course, I do wish some great inspirational idea would come along and I’d probably pursue it.

In the meantime, I stay the course.  The Internet, for sure, is a great source for keeping one busy, involved…and keepin’ on.

*****

Rosemarie and I are on holiday chill…hope yours is relaxing too. C-yuh in the new year!

It’s nobody’s fault, but I now realize I have suffered much because my parents did not live long enough for me to “grow into them.”  By that I mean I have suffered the same fate many people have in that it took me most of my life to realize that much of my emotional makeup mirrors that of my parents.  It has been only in the past twenty years or so that I realize much of the way I process all the “goo” of life is exactly the way my parents handled it.  Trouble is, we can’t share all that harmony now because they’re gone.  It would be so much fun and enlightening to simply sit down together and toss the goo back and forth.

The Progressive Insurance Company has been running an ad campaign that mocks the lifestyle and social behavior of our senior population.  It features “Dr. Rick, the ultimate “parental life coach” whose mission it is to redirect the next generation down from behaving like their parents.  Parents just aren’t cool and it is Dr. Rick’s life’s work to stop the inter-generational metamorphosis.  He’ll teach you the follies of not working a cell phone properly, how not to be a line monitor, or avoiding the telling of “dad jokes,” things like that.

Well today, there I was, standing in front of a mirror in a men’s clothing store.  I was gasping for breath as I stared at the image looking back at me.  It was my father.  No Question.  It was him.   “Get me Dr. Rick!” I yelled, “it’s an emergency.”  Okay, here’s the back story.

Sometime in his 50’s, or thereabouts, my father began wearing suspenders.  I don’t recall ever discussing this new fashion statement he had adopted and, in fact, I don’t remember giving it much thought at all…until now.  By this time in his life, my father’s devout devotion to the beverage of beer had exploited his genetic leanings towards a full girth.  In other words, Dad had a good beer gut, contrarily complemented by skinny legs and a disappearing butt.  How odd, I thought as I uncomfortably scanned the image in the mirror whose silhouette now mimicked my father’s despite the fact that my consumption of beer is limited to a social bottle a year, if that.  I will never again trust a gene unless it has a brand name sewn into its rear pocket.   

Here’s the trouble with having a big waistline with no supporting structure under it.  Pants are made to match the waist so that they are positioned at the proper height when placed on the body.  However, once on, even with a belt, they seek a lower altitude and easily descend below the bulge to where it does not take long before they drop totally all the way to the floor. No Kidding.  So, what to do?  Suspenders!!

Suspenders, those elastic and leathery rubber bands usually reserved for a dark corner rack are the perfect solution.  Sure, you wore them with the tux you rented for the prom and maybe still another for your wedding, but after that—never!  Too many men are in structural denial as they constantly hike their pants up to the proper elevation only to be further frustrated with the dreaded entanglement of the clothing item that lies beneath. Our behavior defies both logic and gravity.  And that is why my father and many of his peers were happy to make suspenders a permanent part of their wardrobe,…and so shall I, Dr. Rick be damned. 

*****

It’s nobody’s fault, but I now realize I have suffered much because my parents did not live long enough for me to “grow into them.”  By that I mean I have suffered the same fate many people have in that it took me most of my life to realize that much of my emotional makeup mirrors that of my parents.  It has been only in the past twenty years or so that I realize much of the way I process all the “goo” of life is exactly the way my parents handled it.  Trouble is, we can’t share all that harmony now because they’re gone.  It would be so much fun and enlightening to simply sit down together and toss the goo back and forth.

The Progressive Insurance Company has been running an ad campaign that mocks the lifestyle and social behavior of our senior population.  It features “Dr. Rick, the ultimate “parental life coach” whose mission it is to redirect the next generation down from behaving like their parents.  Parents just aren’t cool and it is Dr. Rick’s life’s work to stop the inter-generational metamorphosis.  He’ll teach you the follies of not working a cell phone properly, how not to be a line monitor, or avoiding the telling of “dad jokes,” things like that.

Well today, there I was, standing in front of a mirror in a men’s clothing store.  I was gasping for breath as I stared at the image looking back at me.  It was my father.  No Question.  It was him.   “Get me Dr. Rick!” I yelled, “it’s an emergency.”  Okay, here’s the back story.

Sometime in his 50’s, or thereabouts, my father began wearing suspenders.  I don’t recall ever discussing this new fashion statement he had adopted and, in fact, I don’t remember giving it much thought at all…until now.  By this time in his life, my father’s devout devotion to the beverage of beer had exploited his genetic leanings towards a full girth.  In other words, Dad had a good beer gut, contrarily complemented by skinny legs and a disappearing butt.  How odd, I thought as I uncomfortably scanned the image in the mirror whose silhouette now mimicked my father’s despite the fact that my consumption of beer is limited to a social bottle a year, if that.  I will never again trust a gene unless it has a brand name sewn into its rear pocket.   

Here’s the trouble with having a big waistline with no supporting structure under it.  Pants are made to match the waist so that they are positioned at the proper height when placed on the body.  However, once on, even with a belt, they seek a lower altitude and easily descend below the bulge to where it does not take long before they drop totally all the way to the floor. No Kidding.  So, what to do?  Suspenders!!

Suspenders, those elastic and leathery rubber bands usually reserved for a dark corner rack are the perfect solution.  Sure, you wore them with the tux you rented for the prom and maybe still another for your wedding, but after that—never!  Too many men are in structural denial as they constantly hike their pants up to the proper elevation only to be further frustrated with the dreaded entanglement of the clothing item that lies beneath. Our behavior defies both logic and gravity.  And that is why my father and many of his peers were happy to make suspenders a permanent part of their wardrobe,…and so shall I, Dr. Rick be damned. 

*****

This is such a bittersweet time of the year for me.  Emotions will soar high one moment and then sink to the lowest of lows within seconds.  In between?  Well, it’s a rollercoaster ride at best.  This is the peak of the memory season. The holidays force it on us.  We will spend time thinking of the good memories we’ve had and allow them to fill us with happiness and high spirits.  And, just as easily, the sadness of times gone bad will sneak in and burden our hearts once more.

On Christmas morning, when I was a child, my brother and I were not allowed downstairs until my father was up and ready to lead the procession down to the living room.  Sometimes I thought he would never come out of the bathroom, put on his robe and slippers and then finally proceed to the top of the stairs.  While all this transpired in super slow motion my brother and I would lie on our bellies and slide down the first few steps to confirm that Santa, indeed, had been there.  I am sure my father got a kick out of our impatience with him.  I loved him tremendously.  On December 19, 1982 while I was Christmas shopping at a mall, my father was being rushed to the hospital in an ambulance.  By the time he got there, he was brain dead and in a coma that would last all through the holiday until he died the first week in January.  Yes, the highs and lows of Christmas memories.  Most of us have our very own collection and they all come pouring out at this time of the year.

My Christmases, like my life, are packaged in distinct time periods.  There were the Christmases of childhood, filled with wonder and fantasy—feelings you would never experience again but would live on as cherished memories.  I got a cowboy and Indian fort one year, trains in another and a sled along with a gazillion forgotten toys and games.  Next come the Christmases of young adulthood.  All of a sudden, clothes are actually welcomed gifts and you can’t wait to wear them when school resumes.  Hobbies and isolated interests are easy targets for gifts. I got a camera, tons of records (the round vinyl kind that played music) and books.  When adulthood Christmases arrive, they involve new family members:  a wife, children, pets.  Now Christmas involves giving much more than receiving.

Over the years, through all these Christmases, the memories and emotions grow bountiful.  There is no stopping them, both the good and the not-so-good.  And, as we each host our own personal version, there is a shared atmosphere exploding with love and care that we all experience.  It is unique and feels like none other. This is what the magic of Christmas is all about.  Often, we think it comes too quickly…but does it really?

*****

Thanksgiving is over and everyone has gone home.

We did the dishes, polished the counters and the chrome.

Everything is back to normal; the food explosion has settled.

I returned to the gym and 12 miles on the bike I peddled.

The fridge is full of leftovers in bowls or wrapped in foil.

I refuse to cook a thing today even if it’s water to boil.

They say the remaining turkeys on the farm are relieved.

They all know for another year at least they get a reprieve.

Of course, we’ll be eating turkey and stuffing for weeks to come.

So if you drop by I’ll be insisting that you be sure to have some.

I still have extra leaves in the dining room table to uninstall

Plus put the folding chairs back in the garage along the wall.

Thanksgiving is a lot of work, certainly more than just a bit.

And for a number of days afterwards your pants will never fit.

Meanwhile it’s Black Friday and everyone’s at the mall.

The crowds are huge and I hear traffic’s at a crawl.

But before you know it, it’ll be here to do all over again.

Will this annual madness ever go away…and if so, when?

*****

Here’s another one of my Thanksgiving tributes from years past. This one appeared on my blog in 2013. Now remember, I never promise great poetry, but I do commit to making good rhymes!

Thanksgiving is the one American holiday that has it all.

Parades and family gatherings, the big dinner and, of course, football.

The clanging of pots and pans signal a busy kitchen with lots going on.

Cooks across the country have been up cooking since early dawn.

There’s the bird to stuff, and a string bean casserole to make

And for dessert there are pecan and pumpkin pies to bake.

No time to worry whether or not your waistline appears svelte.

‘Tis better you throw caution to the win and just loosen your belt.

I’ll watch the big parade and cheer when Santa comes at the end.

Then it’s officially Christmas with presents to buy and cards to send.

I will no doubt park myself in front of the TV and watch the big game.

And if my team loses I’ll make sure everyone knows who’s to blame.

Meanwhile, I have lots to be thankful for this year, just as in the past,

I’ll think good thoughts and build memories to make them last.

And one final Thanksgiving tradition of merit, if you want my advice,

Always be thankful to the turkey who made the ultimate sacrifice.

*****