Monthly Archives: March 2011

Too late smart

Posted on by
2

oldmonkeyI understand that aging is inevitable but as this process continues in my case I’ve become increasingly aware that humans do indeed grow too soon old and too late smart (old Dutch saying). I mean it just seems to be a person’s lot in life that when they finally gather enough experience and live long enough to actually learn from those experiences, even the bad ones, by the time we finally learn enough to smarten up, we find ourselves too old to remember what we learned in the first place.

For example, take this poor young lady in the image here:

The Fallen Caryatid

Now I recognize this poor thing. The name of the sculpture I mean. Not only that but I absolutely know that I knew the name of the artist who sculpted her as well. It’s just one of those things I never thought I’d forget—everyone has those types of unique memories, right? But when I ran across the image of this unfortunate young woman the other day (who “has her own face” as it were) these two aforementioned facts of knowledge properly cantered out from my past memories to the virtual tip of my tongue but completely refused to move any farther. I sat looking at this poor, overburdened female who had fallen under her stone and drew a complete blank.

I was stunned. All sorts of things came immediately to mind like “she has her own face” and “crushed under her burden” and “valiantly struggling still” but for the life of me I couldn’t actually come up with “The Fallen Caryatid” or the name, Rodin.

It’s like the memory of the sculpture and the artist was sharp and clear in my mind and stuck behind a wall at the same time. Something like having paralysis of the thought process that might be grouped in the same genre as the bag of candy that drops but refuses to make the final trip to the dispenser.

Perhaps that’s what the afterlife is all about. Pretty much the same kind of thing we have here now except that we don’t lose our minds memories when we grow old? (or our teeth, hair or overall good looks either, yes?). Perhaps we, as humans, might even be a bit more sensible in our way of thinking as well but let’s not push it. But one thing for sure, it would certainly eliminate an awful lot of blank looks and embarrassed silences on the part of those over 50 now wouldn’t it?

Northeast Kingdom Snowpocalypse

Posted on by
2

Most folks by now have read about (or actually experienced) that rather nasty storm that came through the East coast this past Sunday through Monday (March 6-7). And while most of the Eastern seaboard got rain out of the deal, we up here in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont were hammered with snow. Nearly 3 feet of it actually and that’s on top of the 2 to 2-1/2 feet that was already there. It took my wife and I all day to dig out from under it and believe me we’ve been paying the price ever since (moan, groan, stagger, stumble).

The day after I decided to take some photos in and around our place and I set up a gallery here for your viewing pleasure. And if you want to see what our place actually looks like when it’s not buried under 4 or more feet of snow take a look at this post for comparison (will open in another window/tab).

This is what it looks like at present though (Now ask me if we’re looking forward to Spring):

A year ago this week

Posted on by
2

It occurred to me by the way of my wife reminding me that is, that it was a year ago this week when we were given notice that the house we were living in was being put up for sale when the owner of said house promised my wife, as a friend, that “she would have this place to live in the rest of her life”. He only made that promise because it didn’t want to hassle with having strangers as his renters but that was besides the point. He gave his word.

Anyway, the series of events went something like this:

Tuesday, March 2nd, 2010:

Former friend waltzes into my wife’s quilt shop and announces that he’s going to to sell the house and walks outs. Truth is he had already put it on the market. About the same time I glanced out the front windows of the house only to see one of our local realtors hammering in a “House for sale” sign on our front lawn. She called me before I had a chance to call her.

My wife comes home that evening in shock and proceeds to look online for possible rental availabilities in town. Finds instead a house that’s for sale right nearby for a very reasonable price. We discuss what the chances were of getting approved for a mortgage which I figured at 5 to 1 against but what the hell, there was no harm in seeing it.

Wednesday, March 3rd, 2010:

I call the realtor in the morning and arrange for a showing which was set at 1:00 PM that afternoon. We got there right on time, saw the house, fell in love with it, went home and called two different local banks. I mean at 5 to 1 against we needed to spread those odds around a bit. I arranged for appointments with the respective mortgage officers of each bank for the next day. One in the morning and the other in the afternoon.

Thursday, March 4th, 2010:

We show up at our first appointment around 10:00 AM and sit promptly down with the mortgage officer, a woman about our age, who wasted no time in getting down to business. Once she verified my status as a veteran and checked that my VA rights were in place she began the qualifying process. Thanks to my wife who has one heck of a business sense about her and with a bit of help from me the process moved right along and 45 minutes later, with our mouths literally hanging open in disbelief, it was announced that we indeed qualified for the mortgage, with a low fixed interest rate and a monthly payment that was nearly $300 cheaper than what we were currently paying in rent. You could have knocked me off my seat with a feather.

I won’t relate the events that took place at the second appointment that afternoon at the other local bank (yes, we went to that one as well, mainly out of curiosity) as we dealt with some young twit who informed us within 10 minutes that we didn’t qualify at all and to come back in 6 months and try again.

Then a quick call to the realtors office to see if our (future) real estate agent was in and, with bank approval letter in hand, we scrapped every bit of change we had everywhere and anywhere to put down as a “good faith” payment and presented our offer. We then went back home to wait.

Friday, March 5th, 2010:

A call from our realtor confirmed what we had been waiting to hear. Our offer had been accepted with a tentative closing date of May 14th. A date which we actually managed to hit square on the head, by the way.

And so, one year ago this week, within a matter of 4 days we went from having our “home” imminently sold out form under us when it was never supposed to happen in the first place to being imminent future home owners. One year later the house we were living in back then is still yet to be sold and here we are snug and cozy in our wonderfully quirky little house nestled in the Clyde River Valley.

Oh, and the cats like it too.

A wood stove. The cat's drug of choice

When memory fails

Posted on by
2

It’s become rather apparent to me of late that I can’t remember nothin’. As contradictory as that last statement is I’m sure you all know what I’m talking about. Not only is the day to day process of remembering things and short term memory failing little by little but the act remembering years past is also getting pretty foggy. And here I thought the older a person got the clearer those old memories were supposed to become.

Apparently not.

I found this out over the last year or so when the my old shipmates finally tracked me down via this site and invited me to join the USS Silversides page on Facebook. Once there the story swapping began in earnest and of course, I joined in. I thought I hadn’t forgot a single detail of those days aboard the boat but after several months of “recalling” events that occurred back then I’ve found out otherwise.

Names of guys whose faces I’ve never forgotten alluded me. Remembering certain events clearly but mixing up the people involved and insisting it was those people only to find out I was wrong. Things like that that kept repeating on a constant basis. Those who never served wouldn’t realize how bothersome this is to someone who has, especially if that person served in an environment as intense as the Cold War submarine force. You never forget. It bothers me that I have.

Forgetting things, being reminded of something I need to do or take and forgetting 3 minutes after being reminded I figure is all a part of the here and now–a part of getting older. It’s not supposed to happen to the past as well.

Not much more to say about this I suppose and I figure some would say that it is, in fact, all a part of growing older but the fact is I’m not that old–yet. I know I feel much older than my years in many ways but in a few ways younger as well. I figure that’s the way it’s supposed to be? I for one have no idea. All I know is I seem to be forgetting more and more as time goes on and though it may sound strange–I miss my memories.