Category Archives: Old age and other jokes I know

Old married couples: Sitting quietly without speaking

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You’ve heard the stories about old married couples. How they grow to look alike. And how they can sit quietly without speaking, enjoying the silence together.

 

Well, the first one is true. Old married couples look the same because all old people look alike. You may be taller, shorter, rounder, or skinnier than your spouse; and you may dye your hair, exercise, eat right, and use expensive creams, but sooner or later both of you will have to put on a wrinkled coat of skin, large ears, and a droopy nose, so you are properly dressed for the party called old age.

 

Of course, you can attend the party wearing a mask created by a plastic surgeon. But you can only wear it for a while before you need a new one. Keep doing that and eventually your mouth will be stretched so close to your ears that you can hear yourself drool. Did I mention drool? Well, lots of people at the party do. Not the mentioning, the drooling.

 

About that second idea: I believe half of it. Old couples often sit quietly without speaking, but not because they are enjoying the silence together. Something else is going on, something called “mamihlapinatapai.” (Note to reader: Impress your friends by casually using this word in a conversation. I’ve developed an easy pronunciation guide to help you in your impressiveness. Repeat after me: mommy – la piñata – pie.)

 

In the Yaphan language of Tierra del Fuego, it means “two people looking at each other without speaking, each hoping that the other will offer to do something which both parties desire but neither is willing to do.”

 

When old couples sit together in silence, both are hoping the other person will do what needs to be done, like washing the dishes, taking out the trash, buying more Depends, or remembering the names of the children. They may look as if they are resting in their love, but both of them are secretly willing the other to action: one silently repeats in his mind, “Make some dinner, make some dinner,” while the other one says over and over in her mind, “Fix us something to eat, fix us something to eat.” If they been together long enough, they’ll sense what the other person is trying to communicate, especially if they have their glasses on and can see what time it is. Then after one asks, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” the other one will nod, wipe the drool from the corner of her mouth, and order Chinese.

 

 

 

(Photo:  Library of Congress, Prints & Photographs Division, FSA-OWI Collection, [reproduction number, e.g., LC-USF35-1326])

Frequently Not Asked Questions: One

Humor, Old age and other jokes I know, Uncategorized, , , ,

Frequently Not Asked Questions (FNAQ) is a new feature on this blog. This feature will appear infrequently, so I suggest that you frequently not expect it.

 

How did you get so old?

 

This is a great question. Thank you for asking.

 

First, let me say that it takes time. You cannot rush into it. I’ve discovered what I call the Seven Secrets to Growing Older. (It’s the title of my new book, soon to be launched on the Amazon.) I don’t want to give too much of it away, but I’ll let you in on the first secret: it’s called Monday. In the book, I explain how Monday and the six steps that follow are the key to getting older. I am confident that by practicing these steps over and over, anyone can grow older. In fact, I am so confident that my book comes with a lifetime guarantee!

 

Second, it helps if you start when you’re very young. I began at such a young age that I don’t have any recollection of when I started. Just as many writers can’t remember a time when they didn’t write, I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t getting older. Please don’t think I’m bragging; I’m merely answering the question.

 

Third, you have to stay consistent. You can’t just stop and pick it up at a later date. Once you stop, you lose your chance to continue. This is probably the number one reason so many people fail to get old.

 

Fourth, you have to practice breathing. It’s related to the third point because it requires consistency. Some people find it tedious – in and out, in and out, all the livelong day – but I’ve found that once you do it enough, it becomes automatic. In fact, now I feel that I can’t live without it.

 

I credit time, an early start, consistency, and breathing with my ability to grow old. I would be remiss if I didn’t mention my mother who not only encouraged me in my early efforts but also modeled the seven steps, soon to be revealed in my book. Of course, I don’t discount food and water any more than I discount my book.

 

(For more information about my book, stay here and read that first point again. For more information about the Amazon, go here.)

In disguise

Humor, Old age and other jokes I know, , , ,

My body is serious about getting old. Each day it tries a little harder to sag or wrinkle, and I have to say, it’s doing a very good job. The “me” inside the body tried getting older once, tried to be suave and debonair, but it didn’t work. Say the word “suave” and I see shampoo and thighs (both are “proven to volumnize”); say the word “debonair” and I visualize air freshener: Does your home smell naïve? Try Debonair! It’s the smell of sophistication.

Not that I can’t be serious; it’s just that I can’t be serious for long periods of time.

 

The other day I was in the car listening to WPR (Wisconsin Public Radio) as former U.S. Senator Russ Feingold unbuckled the truth about what is happening inside the Washington Beltway. When I stopped at a light, I noticed the car in front of me had a license plate from Iowa. I forgot all about politics because I suddenly wanted to flag the man over to ask him his last name. Let it be Lott, I thought. If not, I’ve got to stop this internal rhyming and move to Iowa, change my last name to Lott, and have people call me Iowa Lott. As I turned the corner ,I saw a sign at the gas station that said, “Pay Inside.” I envisioned myself buying gas, going inside, and yapping. Then I would point to the word “Pay” on the sign and say, “I’m half-dyslexic.”

 

Russ was still talking sensibly when I got back, and I made it safely home without pulling anyone over or yapping inside of the gas station.

 

Pretending to be a grownup is a tiresome, but necessary business. If I said and did the things my fifth-grade self would like to say and do, I would be institutionalized. That’s why it’s hard to fault my body for its relentless determination to grow old. It’s the perfect disguise.

 

 

‡Spray bottle photo borrowed from http://www.mt-packaging.com/and slightly altered by yearstricken, who loves a company with a sense of humor. They sell packaging, like empty cans to put your spray in, and their name is MT.

Learn what subligaculum means and amaze your friends

Humor, Old age and other jokes I know, , , ,

According to my imagination, texting began in ancient Rome but never caught on. Much like today, everyone wanted a tablet, and once the price of chisels dropped, the Romans spent most of the day carving messages in stone.

 

Keeping in touch with a friend involved writing a message on a tablet and then lugging it over to your friend’s house to read. You can imagine how tiresome, cumbersome, bothersome, and boresome that was. If you had a lot of friends, you would be buffsome from carrying around all those tablets, but it involved talking face-to-face, which somehow seemed barbaric.

 

Not only was carving a tablet difficultsome and timesome, but it was also hard to write straight on stone. People began using chalk to make guidelines for the letters, and soon writing on a tablet began to be called writing “online.”

 

Since everyone could read these tablets, young people developed acronyms and “online names” so that the adults around them wouldn’t be able to figure out what they were saying.

 

Subligaculum were easy to get into a knot. This is where we get the modern expression, "Don't get your panties all in a knot." (Photo: courtesy of Wikipedia; History and phrase etymology: courtesy of yearstricken.)

 

Aurelius Aquila1 (online name: The Golden Eagle2), a young Roman teen, chiseled himself a place in history by his prolific writing in the Caesarean section of Rome. He was also famous for starting the fad of wearing toga belts suggestively low on the hips. When his enraged parents told him to pull the belt higher, he famously, flippantly and frivolously replied, “Don’t get your subligaculum all in a knot.” However, he missed the mark with his idea of carving generic messages on pavement around town and having his friends go to the text, rather than the text going to the friends.

 

 

Sadly, we have only one extant example of texting by The Golden Eagle, and I have not been able to decipher all of the message. I’m working on it and will not rest until I do or until night falls, whichever comes first.

Text by Aurelius Aquila. This is possibly the Rosetta Stone of early texting. POS = Parents over shoulder; OB = Oh, baby. My imagination and I believe the rest may be rather racy3. (Photo: courtesy of http://www.flickr.com/photos/horiavarlan/4793133652/)

 

 

 

In the photo you see that I kindly underlined what I have been able to figure out so far. The caption gives the explanation.

 

 

 

 

 

FOOTNOTES:

1 Aquila means eagle, eagle means feathers, and feathers mean quills. Ergo, ipso facto, this is where we get the word “quill.”

2 The Golden Eagle was a prolific writer, eagle means feather, feathers mean quills, quills mean pens. Ergo, ipso facto, this is where we get the name of  The Golden Pen award.

3 In my research I have discovered two things: one, I cannot use a superscript in a photo caption, so the 3 looks weird after the word “racy,” which is irritating; and two, those nude statues the Romans were so fond of may have been, in fact, just an early form of sexting.

                                                                         Ω      Ω      Ω      Ω        Ω

I started out today writing a very short introduction to a list of texting acronyms for Boomers that my sister and brother-in-law sent me. But I write the same way I live. I need my glasses, I go into the bedroom, I notice the mirror is dirty, I clean it, I remember I need to clean the bathroom sink, I see that I haven’t combed my hair, then I remember I need to make a hair appointment, I look for my phone, I see that I have an email, I sit down to read it, and realize I need to find my glasses.

 

What follows is the equivalent of finding my glasses, and unlike my meandering introduction, it  is worth reading.  I did NOT create this list. I wish I did, but I didn’t. The email has been passed around to a lot of people and does not include the author’s name. If you know who it is, please let me know. I want to be his or her friend, and I would like to give credit to the author. Enjoy.

 

Pushing the right buttons

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Last month when my brother came to Wisconsin for a visit, we spent the weekend driving around to admire the changing colors. On that Saturday, my brother, husband, daughter, grandchild, and I spent the day up north taking pictures, visiting a pumpkin patch, and enjoying the weather.

We went in my car, but my husband drove. My brother sat up in the front with him, and the rest of us were in the back seat. When we came home that evening, we were all tired. My husband pulled into the garage next to his car, and everyone got out except me.

When I reached in my purse, I must have hit the alarm on the key fob, setting off the horn. I started punching the alarm button, but nothing happened. So, I started punching the other buttons that have nothing to do with the alarm. Makes sense, right? While doing so, I locked the doors.

Flustered by my lack of results, all I could think of to do was to keep punching that same button again and again. (The classic definition of insanity: doing the same thing over and over expecting different results.) My husband could see that I was punching the right one. So he thought, if it isn’t her car alarm that is bursting our eardrums, maybe it’s mine. So, he pushed the alarm button on his key fob. Do you see how well suited we are for one another?

Now, both car alarms were blaring. My husband was standing by his car pushing his button, which made his alarm go on and off. I was sitting in the back seat of my locked car doing the same, wondering why my car wouldn’t listen to me.

My brother and daughter were standing next to my car laughing and talking above the din. He said, “Do you think she will figure it out?” My daughter shook her head, “I doubt it.” Then he yelled something over to my husband who knocked on my window and yelled at me to unlock the car.

He opened the door and said, “It’s your other key fob.”

Yes, I have two key fobs. One is actually a remote starter, and the other one came with the car. I had been sitting in the back seat pushing the alarm on the remote starter. As soon as I punched the button on the right key fob, the alarm went off.

My brother and daughter said it was a lot of fun watching us. I wish I could have seen it, but I was too busy sitting in the back seat pushing buttons over and over.

Fall color in Wisconsin

The reds and oranges

Corn for the silo

My brain won’t work – it’s Perry-lized

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Frozen brain is now Perry-lized

As easy as it would be to make fun of Rick Perry and his brain freeze, I will refrain. I myself am in a fast moving vehicle without any brakes on the road called life. The last sign I saw said 60, and it wasn’t the speed limit.

 

According to an article on bigthink.com, the technical term for “I plumb fergot” is “retrieval failure.” Apparently, there’s a bit of a distance from the part of the brain that wags the tongue to the so-called memory banks. That means every time you’re talking and want to remember something, you have to walk to the bank and make a withdrawal. Depending on the brain you’re walking through, there’s a good chance you will get mugged or arrive there to find that your bank account is empty. This happens to me all the time.

 

Not only that, but memories, like teeth, can decay. Which is why we use the expression, “I need to brush up on that.” Learning is how you brush your brain and keep it shiny. Flossing is optional.

 

I had more to say on this subject. However, when I walked over to my memory bank, there was a big sign on the door that said, “Bank Holiday.”

 

Descartes at 30: I think, therefore I am; Descartes at 60: I age, therefore I melt

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Student: Teacher, I like your turtleneck. Is it one of those new scrunchy kinds?

Yearstricken: (Places hands on throat – her own, not the student’s) I’m not wearing a turtleneck. And student, this is not the way to an A.

Student: Does teacher want chocolate?

Yearstricken: Yes, very dark, on the bitter side.

As the student walks away, Yearstricken thinks she hears the student mutter, “Like teacher?”

This exchange is almost true: Yearstricken loves dark chocolate; her students know this. And her face is starting to melt. Her cheeks are starting to hang off her face. People call them jowls. This makes Yearstricken scowl, howl, growl and make rhymes. A lot of her face is melting down her neck, but it has nowhere to go because her shoulders are in the way. Her skin is puddling there.

(Time out for dark chocolate.)

Hi, I’m back and speaking in the first person again. Chocolate helps me that way. One of my recurring dreams is that I can fly. By merely raising my arms, I can lift off and fly all around the dream universe. After watching those videos where people in wingsuits jump off mountains and fly, I realize that these dreams are prophetic and I’ve been preparing all my life to jump off mountains and fly, but without the wingsuit. My arms are ready, very flappable, that is, able to flap. In fact, I could go as a bat on Halloween if I painted them black.

So, where does Descartes come into all this? He watched a candle melt and developed an entire system of knowledge, how we know that we know what we know. He was a very knowing man. He called it the Wax Argument and in his book, Meditations, he includes this line: The wax can be extended in ways that I cannot accurately imagine.

The Wax Argument - I age, therefore I melt

Really, that’s what he said. I cannot make up things like that.

If Descartes had made it to 60 (he died at age 56), I have no doubt he would have made the connection to that candle and the way people melt as they age. Also, he would be amazed at the ways in which my candle is extending. If he were here, I’m sure he’d thank me for making all this clear.