Defining "Old"

Millions of years ago, in a galaxy far far away, i.e. high school in the 1940s, I developed my first concept of the word "old." Old people were those who were slightly older than I was. When I was a freshman, seniors were old, and when I became a senior, college students were old, or at least older.

The idea hardened at the annual alumni banquet, an institution which has long since been discontinued. At our banquet, three members of the class which had graduated 50 years previously were in attendance. We all decided they were "really old fuddy duddies" (ROFDs). Over the years I haven't thought much more about the subject.

Now however, I am nearly ten years older than those ROFDs were when they attended our banquet, so for obvious reasons I have decided to rethink my definition. In addition, for several years my class has been having monthly breakfasts at a local restaurant, and I have found that my long-time (I almost said old) friends are knowledgeable, thinking and articulate people.

I admit that sometimes one of the regulars fails to show up because of a hip replacement or gall bladder surgery, but those are only physical problems. While they are related to aging, they in no way relegate the persons to my ROFD category.

Neither have I noticed any iPods or X-boxes at breakfast, although someone did bring in a cell phone a few months ago, and we used it to call an out-of-state member of the class in honor of her birthday.

I once heard a little poem on the subject:

I don't mind that I'm old and gray,
For I've been around for many a day.
The thing that really makes me weep,
is: My mind makes appointments my body can't keep.

Notice, the problem is with the body - not the mind.

I can approach this definition problem from several angles. I could erase the ROFD concept, although I have carried it around for so many years that I hate to let it go completely.

I could redefine "old" to be say, 15 years older than any age I happen to be, although I know some people in that age group who also don't fit the category.

I have noticed lately that young people do not speak the same language as those of us who have lived a few more years. Perhaps if we spoke their language, we would not be considered "old." For example, suppose after one of my contemporaries says, "Have you heard what those idiots in Harrisburg are planning?" Then I go, "Hey dude, it's like, you know, whatever."

Or perhaps not.

Rules of the Road for the 21st. Century

Since I have no college training in Driver Education, I am sure I would not qualify as an "expert witness" in a court of law. Nevertheless, over a period of many years I have diligently observed what other drivers do, and as a result I have compiled a list of rules of the road based on those observations.

1. No matter how fast I drive, everyone behind me wants to drive faster. This is especially true of the stupid driver directly behind me, who wants to do it without passing me. He practices what are technically called "tailgating" and "hornblowing."

2. The self-appointed guardian of highway safety directly in front of me always drives ten miles per hour slower than I wish to drive, except when I am in a hurry, in which case, he drives twenty miles per hour slower.

3. When waiting in line to turn right at a traffic light, it is a good idea to drive through the bays of a corner gas station in order to eliminate the wait. As a side benefit, this speeds up traffic by shortening the waiting time for all the other cars in line.

4. If a school bus with flashing red lights is on the opposite side of the highway, teach those little children how traffic works by passing the bus as if it were not there. However, if the bus is on your side of the highway, slow down slightly while passing it. After all, children have rights too.

5. When exiting a freeway, always wait until the last possible moment to leave the diamond lane and cut across four lanes of traffic to the offramp.

6. Speed limits mean what they say - do not drive any slower than the limit. It is a good idea to drive at least five, and preferably ten or more miles per hour faster than the posted limit.

7. Driving can be boring, so it is perfectly acceptable for the driver to pass the time by reading the newspaper, shaving, drinking coffee, changing the baby's diaper or getting the kitten out from under the seat. Talking on a cell phone is also acceptable, although the preferred venues for using that instrument are movie theaters and restaurants.

8. When a traffic light turns red, it is a signal that only three cars, an 18-wheeler, a school bus and a motorcycle have time to complete their left turn.

9. Never pass up the chance to improve the other driver's skills. For example, when drivers are attempting to enter the freeway, tailgating in the slow lane is a good way to improve their ability to squeeze in when room between cars is limited.

10. Occasionally the other driver will not realize that you are teaching him a valuable lesson (Rule 9), but normally he will indicate forgiveness by extending his middle finger toward heaven. You should acknowledge that forgiveness by returning the signal.

11. In the event he still does not understand (Rule 10), take a tip from the Boy Scouts and be prepared. Shoot first!

A New Word - Insouciant

I learned a new word today: insouciant. It's an adjective meaning free from concern, worry, or anxiety; carefree; nonchalant. What with the world the way it is today, it is very difficult to be insouciant, and that's too bad. It seems to me that young people, those who have not yet started to work, and retired people should be in a position to be insouciant, and in many cases they are, but they don't seem to realize it.

Sometimes parents try too hard to make young people achieve before they are ready. Peer pressure is relentless. Today's music creates stress, rap music in particular, but popular music to a lesser degree. They get the idea that if they do not have a steady boyfriend or girlfriend there is something wrong with them.

Some feel the need to excel at electronic games, and in some cases have actually been driven to suicide.

It's too bad - this should be the best time of their lives.

It seems to me that retired people have paid their dues, and should be able to be insouciant. But who can relax on a fixed income? Medical bills are climbing out of sight; energy bills are skyrocketing. While inflation on other goods has been fairly low the past few years, it still creeps along. 3% inflation will double prices in 24 years, and most people retiring at 65 can expect to live that much longer.

One other thing - Barbara has pointed out that young people do not see older people. She stood at a counter where three young clerks were talking, and none of them waited on her. When another young person approached the counter, one of them waited on him immediately. I have occasionally noticed the same thing myself. It's too bad - the two groups could learn a lot from each other.

Bad Luck or Bad Choices?

This morning I saw a new face at the gym. The lady reminded me of Naomi, a girl I used to work with.

Naomi was a beautiful girl, but she had problems. Although it wasn't in my job description, I became the person that employees could talk to about their problems, and it got to the point where I kept a box of tissues handy so that if someone wanted to cry, I was ready to listen. Naomi was one of these.

She had troubles with her parents, from whom she was estranged, and her husbands. She had one child, but eventually she and her first husband got divorced. Naomi went through several boyfriends after that.

Finally she met a young man from India, and soon he became her second husband. One day they hit the lottery for seventeen million dollars. Would you believe it, the husband took all the money and went back to India, leaving Naomi with what few assets they had here. Chances of having him extradited were nil.

Some people just have a lot of luck - all bad. Naomi was one of those.

Richard Nixon

Barbara and I went to the Richard Nixon Presidential Library and Birthplace yesterday. It is very impressive.

Nixon was never one of my favorite people - he always appeared rather stilted or wooden in his actions. To me he appeared sneaky.

From the time he began his political career, he was not above dirty tricks. When he ran for the Senate, he smeared his opponent, Helen Gahagan Douglas, with accusations that she was soft on communism. She was not soft, but she did believe in freedom of speech and the theory of innocent until proven guilty.

Everyone knows that he quit the presidency rather than undergo impeachment and trial, at which he doubtless would have been found guilty. It has not been proven that he knew about the Watergate break-in, but there is no doubt that he did all he could to stop the investigation. I guess he was guilty of loyalty to his party, which sometimes requires quite a bit of dishonesty. As often happens, if he had been forthright at the beginning, he would probably be remembered as a fine president.

There is no doubt that his forte was foreign relations. He was the one who opened up China to the rest of the world. He also brought an end to the Viet Nam war, although some would say it was dishonorable because it did not end in victory. Never mind that the war was not very honorable to start with.

I couldn't help but compare his library to that of Lyndon Johnson, which we visited last fall. Johnson's library has eight levels of records where the public can see them - I had to ask where Nixon's papers are. They are in the basement. Is that symbolic?

The library is on the property where Nixon was born, and the house and its original furnishings are there. He really did start from nothing.

He is also buried there. On these grounds one can truly follow his life from beginning to end.

The Last Times

Barbara and I have often passed a very old Asian gentleman who takes daily shuffles around our development. I say shuffles, because he moves the heel of one foot even with the toe of the other when he walks. His progress is very slow - we usually meet him, walk completely around the development, and meet him again about half a block from where he was before.

We always say "Good Morning" to him, and he always smiles and tips his cap to us. Barbara has noticed that he has to shift his cap (which he usually carries) from one hand to the other, and she thinks he may have had a stroke or something so that he cannot raise his one hand.

A few days ago he seemed to be having a serious problem. He was standing in the street, and an Asian lady and the security policeman were supporting him. I don't know what happened because we didn't want to stare at him, but we did see the Asian lady running up the street when we got around the development. We have not seen him since.

This got me thinking about things that have happened that we didn't realize was the last time. I used to meet my friend, Harvey, for breakfast at Knott's Berry Farm about once a month. I knew he had prostrate cancer, but he said it was under control. One time we didn't call each other for a few months, and one day I received a call telling me he had died. I believe I would have treated him differently if I had known that last breakfast was the last time I would see him alive.

In 1984 we visited Barbara's parents in September. Her father died in January, 1985. Because of weather problems, the airlines were not able to get us to Pennsylvania in time for the funeral. I am sure we would have felt differently about leaving in 1984 if we had known that was the last time we would ever see him.

I don't get to see my grandchildren very often. I believe the last time I saw Heidi was in 1992, when her mother brought her and her brother to visit me at the office where I was working. In 1994 I received a phone call from her alerting me that the infamous O.J. Simpson slow chase was passing close to my house at that very moment. She was watching it on television

I received occasional letters from her, and I answered them very sporadically. On Oct. 2, 1997, the day after her 17th. birthday, she was killed in a collision with a truck. How I regretted all the occasions when I could have made more effort to communicate with her. I will never get over the shock of her unexpected death. I certainly never dreamed that her visit five years earlier was the last time I would ever see her.

It doesn't have to be a death to change the way we would look at the "last time" for some event if we knew it was the last time. When I lived on the farm, I loved playing in the "woods." I can't remember the last time I played there, and I wish I could. I went back for a visit some time ago, and it was so grown up with briars that I couldn't even get in for a nostalgic look around.

We never know when we see will be seeing someone for the last time, or some event will be for the last time. Perhaps we would look at things much differently if we kept that in mind at goodbyes, movings, etc. I am not advocating tears and gnashing of teeth with every goodbye. I only suggest that we attempt always to part with feelings of respect and goodwill.

Tears

This morning I was awakened by a dream. It was neither a bad dream nor a good dream; in retrospect I guess I would classify it as a poignant dream.

In my dream I walked into an office where I worked many years ago. My old boss and one or two coworkers were busy trashing the place. The furniture had been scattered helter-skelter, and was pretty badly broken. The walls were completely covered with various papers: forms, reports, orders, etc., and the occupants were busily tearing these items off the walls and dumping them on the floor. As they ripped items down, the very plaster of the walls came with them, so that the room appeared to be undergoing complete destruction. I joined in the efforts.

Now you must understand that this office really does not exist today - it was a casualty of the asbestos wars some twenty years or so ago. The entire facility, which at one time employed over 1,200 people, is completely deserted at this time. I really enjoyed my job in this place, so that when I awoke from my dream I almost shed a tear.

Yesterday I attended the wedding of one of Barbara's nephews. It was a small but beautiful wedding, and took place in the lovely home of the bride's parents. I believe that every one of the guests agreed that it was the perfect wedding for this particular couple. It was followed by a reception at a fine restaurant.

Although the groom had specified, partly in jest I am sure, that there should be no tears, I know that a few were shed.

Why would tears appear at both poignant and joyous occasions? As a matter of fact, why are they are shed at many types of events: sad and happy, painful and exhilarating, birth and death, rites of passage, graduations, bar mitzvahs - and others too numerous to mention. What do all these have in common?

I believe there is a "creative tendency" working in the universe. Every thing - material or immaterial, physical or mental, real or imaginary has a tendency to evolve toward a state of equilibtium with its environment. Some things have achieved equilibtium and have ceased, or nearly ceased, evolving. For example, a rock takes eons to erode. Other entities: a family, a new fad, a subatomic particle or a political party can change very quickly. Well, maybe not too quickly for the political party.

But there is something over and above the creative tendency. Call it a spirit, (yes, I used the s-word) that has developed the ability to look at itself. It is like a hobo. It can see from whence it has come, and it knows it is going to continue evolving, but it cannot tell in what direction it is going to go.

I believe that when one sheds tears at an emotional occasion, that person is "feeling the spirit." He or she is recognizing the passing of the old, and the passage into the new but unknown.

Both are comforting in a way, and both are scary.

The Biblical Age of the Earth

It has long been an article of faith among conservative Christians that the Bible is to be taken literally. This is in spite of the fact that the Jews, original authors of the Old Testament, believe that the stories contained therein, and the book of Genesis in particular, are a collection of writings illustrating the best thinking of ancient minds. Their value is in the morals and the guides to ethical living to be drawn from them.

Even many people who are not conservative Christians believe that God created the universe in seven days. And in the older versions of the King James Bible the actual date of creation is given as October 23rd in the year 4004 BCE, at 9:00 o'clock in the morning.

What few of these believers realize is that that date was not part of the original writing, but was added to an authorized version of the Bible which appeared in 1701. The date was calculated by Bishop James Ussher using a formula based on a combination of certain natural cycles, i.e. the sun and the moon, and a strictly man made cycle (the indiction) established by the Roman Empire as a schedule of tax evaluations. By correlating his calculations with certain Middle Eastern histories, i.e. the end of the reign of the Nebuchadnezars [sic], Ussher arrived at the date of creation. The good Bishop did not specify the time of day - that calculation was the brainchild of John Lightfoot, Vice-Chancellor of Cambridge University. The Bishop's calculation follows:

James Ussher (1581-1656), Archbishop of Armagh, Primate of All Ireland, and Vice-Chancellor of Trinity College in Dublin was highly regarded in his day as a churchman and as a scholar. Of his many works, his treatise on chronology has proved the most durable. Based on an intricate correlation of Middle Eastern and Mediterranean histories and Holy writ, it was incorporated into an authorized version of the Bible printed in 1701, and thus came to be regarded with almost as much unquestioning reverence as the Bible itself. Having established the first day of creation as Sunday 23 October 4004 BC, by the arguments set forth in the passage below, Ussher calculated the dates of other biblical events, concluding, for example, that Adam and Eve were driven from Paradise on Monday 10 November 4004 BC, and that the ark touched down on Mt Ararat on 5 May 2348 BC `on a Wednesday'.

— Craig, G. Y. and E. J. Jones. A Geological Miscellany. Princeton University Press, 1982.

Ussher's spellings have been faithfully kept in the following excerpt.

Bishop Ussher Dates the Earth: 4004 BCE

For as much as our Christian epoch falls many ages after the beginning of the world, and the number of years before that backward is not only more troublesome, but (unless greater care be taken) more lyable to errour; also it hath pleased our modern chronologers, to adde to that generally received hypothesis (which asserted the Julian years, with their three cycles by a certain mathematical prolepsis, to have run down to the very beginning of the world) an artificial epoch, framed out of three cycles multiplied in themselves; for the Solar Cicle being multiplied by the Lunar, or the number of 28 by 19, produces the great Paschal Cycle of 532 years, and that again multiplied by fifteen, the number of the indiction, there arises the period of 7980 years, which was first (if I mistake not) observed by Robert Lotharing, Bishop of Hereford, in our island of Britain, and 500 years after by Joseph Scaliger fitted for chronological uses, and called by the name of the Julian Period, because it conteined a cycle of so many Julian years. Now if the series of the three minor cicles be from this present year extended backward unto precedent times, the 4713 years before the beginning of our Christian account will be found to be that year into which the first year of the indiction, the first of the Lunar Cicle, and the first of the Solar will fall. Having placed there fore the heads of this period in the kalends of January in that proleptick year, the first of our Christian vulgar account must be reckoned the 4714 of the Julian Period, which, being divided by 15. 19. 28. will present us with the 4 Roman indiction, the 2 Lunar Cycle, and the 10 Solar, which are the principal characters of that year.

We find moreover that the year of our fore-fathers, and the years of the ancient Egyptians and Hebrews were of the same quantity with the Julian, consisting of twelve equal moneths, every of them conteining 30 days, (for it cannot be proved that the Hebrews did use lunary moneths before the Babylonian Captivity) adjoying to the end of the twelfth moneth, the addition of five dayes, and every four year six. And I have observed by the continued succession of these years, as they are delivered in holy writ, that the end of the great Nebuchadnezars and the beginning of Evilmerodachs (his sons) reign, fell out in the 3442 year of the world, but by collation of Chaldean history and the astronomical cannon, it fell out in the 186 year c Nabonasar, and, as by certain connexion, it must follow in the 562 year before the Christian account, and of the Julian Period, the 4152. and from thence I gathered the creation of the world did fall out upon the 710 year of the Julian Period, by placing its beginning in autumn: but for as much as the first day of the world began with the evening of the first day of the week, I have observed that the Sunday, which in the year 710 aforesaid came nearest the Autumnal AEquinox, by astronomical tables (notwithstanding the stay of the sun in the dayes of Joshua, and the going back of it in the dayes c Ezekiah) happened upon the 23 day of the Julian October; from thence concluded that from the evening preceding that first day of the Julian year, both the first day of the creation and the first motion of time are to be deduced.

— J. Ussher, The Annals of the World iv (1658)

The above excerpt makes no mention of the time of day at which creation occurred. In popular references one often finds it given as 9 A.M., and this is wrongly attributed to Ussher. The following excerpt from Andrew D. White's book A History of the Warfare of Science with Theology in Christendom (D. Appleton and Co., 1897, p. 9) identifies the culprit as Sir John Lightfoot:

...the general conclusion arrived at by an overwhelming majority of the most competent students of the biblical accounts was that the date of creation was, in round numbers, four thousand years before our era; and in the seventeenth century, in his great work, Dr. John Lightfoot, Vice-Chancellor of the University of Cambridge, and one of the most eminent Hebrew scholars of his time, declared, as the result of his most profound and exhaustive study of the Scriptures, that "heaven and earth, centre and circumference, were created all together, in the same instant, and clouds full of water," and that "this work took place and man was created by the Trinity on October 23, 4004 B.C., at nine o'clock in the morning.

John Lightfoot (1602-1675), Vice-Chancellor of Cambridge University was a contemporary of Ussher. Lightfoot published his calculations in 1644, before Ussher's were completed.

Note: The indiction was a proclamation made every 15 years in the later Roman Empire, fixing the valuation of property to be used as a basis for taxation. It was also called the cycle of indiction, the recurring fiscal period of 15 years in the Roman Empire, long used for dating ordinary events.

The Scientific Age of the Earth

Those who believe in the Biblical version of creation are not swayed by the findings of science. To them the fossil record is either a part of God's plan to test our belief, or else the numerous fossils of extinct creatures, i.e. dinosaurs, etc., indicate that they were all created within seven days and for some reason or other were unable to avail themselves of the 40 day adventure on Noah's ark. What creationists do not understand is that if evolution fails, much of our modern world disappears.

Scientific Dating

Carbon-14 dating is a way of determining the age of certain archeological artifacts of a biological origin up to about 60,000 years old. It is used in dating things such as bone, cloth, wood and plant fibers that were created in the relatively recent past by human activities.

How Carbon-14 is Made

Please bear with me here, because this gets a bit technical.

Cosmic rays enter the earth's atmosphere in large numbers every day. For example, every person is hit by about half a million cosmic rays every hour. It is not uncommon for a cosmic ray to collide with an atom in the atmosphere, creating a secondary cosmic ray in the form of an energetic neutron, and for these energetic neutrons to collide with nitrogen atoms. When the neutron collides, a nitrogen-14 (seven protons, seven neutrons) atom turns into a carbon-14 atom (six protons, eight neutrons) and a hydrogen atom (one proton, zero neutrons). Carbon-14 is radioactive, with a half-life of about 5,700 years. Whatever quantity one starts with, only half of it remains after 5,700 years.

Carbon-14 in Living Things

The carbon-14 atoms that cosmic rays create combine with oxygen to form carbon dioxide, which plants absorb naturally and incorporate into plant fibers by photosynthesis. Animals and people eat plants and take in carbon-14 as well. The ratio of normal carbon (carbon-12) to carbon-14 in the air and in all living things at any given time is nearly constant. Maybe one in a trillion carbon atoms are carbon-14. The carbon-14 atoms are always decaying, but they are being replaced by new carbon-14 atoms at a constant rate. At this moment, your body has a certain percentage of carbon-14 atoms in it, and all living plants and animals have the same percentage.

Dating a Fossil

Note: This is not about going out with an older person

As soon as a living organism dies, it stops taking in new carbon. The ratio of carbon-12 to carbon-14 at the moment of death is the same as every other living thing, but the carbon-14 decays and is not replaced. The carbon-14 decays with its half-life of 5,700 years, while the amount of carbon-12 remains constant in the sample. By looking at the ratio of carbon-12 to carbon-14 in the sample and comparing it to the ratio in a living organism, it is possible to determine the age of a formerly living thing fairly precisely.

Because the half-life of carbon-14 is 5,700 years, it is only reliable for dating objects up to about 60,000 years old. However, the principle of carbon-14 dating applies to other isotopes as well. Potassium-40 is another radioactive element naturally found in your body, and has a half-life of 1.3 billion years.

Other useful radioisotopes for radioactive dating include Uranium-235 (half-life = 704 million years), Uranium-238 (half-life = 4.5 billion years), Thorium-232 (half-life = 14 billion years) and Rubidium-87 (half-life = 49 billion years). These radioisotopes are particularly useful for dating geological samples. If a fossil is found in a stratum of rock dated at 80 million years old, it is logical to assume the fossil is also 80 million years old.

If Evolution Fails

Atomic decay is the linchpin of nuclear physics. If radioisotope decay and dating is not factual, nuclear physics fails; the entire edifice crashes. Nuclear medicine, nuclear submarines and all other "nuclear" technologies disappear.

Some would say that considering all the evils nuclear physics has unleashed, this is no great problem. However, without the nuclear underpinning, all of atomic theory crashes and burns. No protons, no neutrons, no electrons, hence no elements and no chemistry. Without chemistry there would be no biology; life itself would not exist!

Creationists say that the laws of physics as they are today are not the same as they were in times past. God has changed them in order to confuse or mislead us. What loving father would do that to his children?

There is no doubt that life exists; the jury is still out on the question of intelligence.

What Scientists Do

Evolution vs. Intelligent Design

There is considerable controversy at the present time between the competing "theories" of natural selection and intelligent design. This disagreement has several roots, but I believe one of the most important ones has to do with a misunderstanding of what it is that scientists do. Even many scientists seem to have forgotten.

When a scientist is doing science, he is testing a theory and reporting his observations. For example, he may have a theory that if he mixes vinegar and baking soda, he will observe that oxygen will be formed. To his dismay he finds that when he actually performs the experiment carbon dioxide appears instead. He must retest and update his theory under all conceivable conditions.

But when he issues a report of his findings to other scientists, he will not say that carbon dioxide is "caused" by mixing vinegar and baking soda; he will report that mixing the two is followed by the appearance of carbon dioxide. In short, he will say what he observes as a result of his experiment, but he will not hazard a guess as to why. The so-called laws of nature do not state what nature "must" do; they describe what nature consistently "does" do. Science is descriptive, not prescriptive.

If an Eskimo and a central African are placed in a room in which the temperature is 40 degrees, they will probably disagree on whether it is too hot or too cold, but both can read a thermometer and agree that it is recording a temperature of 40 degrees. They can agree on what they observe objectively, but may have widely divergent opinions on what they think subjectively. For this reason science advances on the basis of observations and not opinions.

This is not to say that a scientist may not have an opinion as to why things appear as they are. He may very well believe that God designed the earth and guides its daily activities. However, the scientist will also realize that this is his opinion, not an observation, and thus outside the purview of science.

He may disseminate his opinion in conversing with friends, in his Sunday school class, or anywhere else he cares to, but not in the science class that he teaches part time at the university. Why? Because as an opinion rather than as a theory, it cannot be tested.

So it is with the intelligent design "theory."

What Is Man?

Despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary, Aristotle's definition of man as a rational animal is still in vogue today. The problem is that on the rare occasions when man is being rational, he is still so much more than that. Aristotle was locked in to the subject/predicate form demanded by his language.

But that is true for all of us. We single out a process from the ongoing Kosmos and give it a name, freezing it forever into a static event. Then we assign characteristics to the event, not realizing that the characteristics are supplied by our brains - not by the event itself.

The least we can do, especially for an event as dynamic as man, is to use a noun which implies that there is more to this process than a snapshot. And in order to make it all inclusive, I shall use the term "human being." I am indebted to J. Samuel Bois of Viewpoints Institute in Los Angeles for this definition, and the following is my understanding of it:

A human being is a process. To call a human being a process is merely indicating that this event is not going to remain static over time. It is going to assimilate materials from its environment, and give back other materials in return. As energy in the form of wax and oxygen flows into a candle flame, and other energy in the form of heat and light flows out, so will energy pass into and out of the human being. In an even more fundamental sense, the very atoms and molecules of the process itself are constantly being sloughed off and replenished. There is no such thing as a static human being, or any other animal for that matter.

A human being is a self-moving process. Other animals are self-moving, many in highly specialized ways. The cheetah can run 70 miles per hour for short distances, monkeys can swing by their tails, and fish can swim in the seas. But no other animal has the generalized movements that the human being has - movements that enable one to travel from the bottom of the sea to the valleys of the moon, and to an infinite number of environments in between.

A human being is an electro-chemical process. Again, other animals are also electro-chemical processes, but none has the billions of neurons and the trillion or so connections, both electrical and chemical, that constitute the human brain and nervous system. Even while one is asleep, the circuits continue their ebb and flow.

A human being is a feeling process. While other animals may possess some instinctive feelings - hunger, fear or reproduction - the deeper emotions of love, empathy, joy, angst, jealousy, apathy, enthusiasm and others seem to be rudimentary at best.

A human being is a thinking process. While some degree of thinking occurs in the great apes, porpoises and perhaps a few other species, none has the powers of creativity and self-reflexiveness that exist in the human being. No other animal has created language, mathematics, religion and other institutions, nor has any other animal constructed a skyscraper, an automobile or even a pocket knife. And most important, no other animal can create concepts and discuss or argue about them with other members of its species.

An even more subtle relationship colors a human being's timewise transactions with the environment. A human being approaches each transaction with a memory of past events and their results, and with hopes and aspirations for future events, and modifies its behavior accordingly. Every transaction is shot through with the time component as internalized by the individual.

To recapitulate - A human being is a self-moving, electro-chemical, feeling, thinking process in continuous and directed transaction with a space/time environment. I believe Aristotle would approve of this definition.

So You Want To Be A Tax Preparer

I suppose it's a part of human nature to wish to avoid paying income taxes, but after 49 years of preparing income tax returns for other people, I am still amazed at the illogical twists and turns the human imagination can take. Most people seem to think the other guy is getting away with something, and sometimes he is, but in general the tax laws are followed reasonably honestly and consistently. And it's a good thing they are, because if people refused to obey the tax laws more or less voluntarily, there is no way the IRS, or for that matter, the entire government bureaucracy could begin to enforce them.

As with any government bureau, the IRS is required to operate within the constraints of an operating budget. In recent years the service has found that it can collect taxes more efficiently if it concentrates its resources on electronic data collection - comparing tax returns to data submitted electronically or otherwise from other sources. For this reason one hears TV sound bites to the effect that the number of audits last year was the lowest in history. It's true, but that doesn't mean the number is zero.

In order to make electronic comparisons, the IRS must input every line on every tax return into its computers. This is the reason the service is so anxious to have everyone file tax returns electronically - it eliminates the very expensive computer input procedure, or rather, it transfers that expense to the taxpayer. Another important consideration is that electronic filing eliminates the one step in the process which is most prone to errors.

Once the return has been computerized, it is compared to data, primarily from forms W2 and 1099, which the service has received from employers, customers, financial institutions, etc. If the computer determines that your return does not exhibit some item that has been reported elsewhere under your social security number, you will receive a letter with the dreaded "Internal Revenue Service" imprinted in the upper left hand corner of the envelope.

In addition, every entry on the return is assigned a number based on a top secret "weighting" system which the service has developed over the years. If your return has a weighted value above a certain maximum, you may be called to bring your data to the local office for an old fashioned audit.

In spite of these procedures, there are still loopholes for the dishonest person to slip through, at least for a few years. It has been my experience, however, that such persons often outsmart themselves as well as the tax man, and in many cases they wind up regretting that they had not been more honest.

Take the case of the client who was employed by his father's electrical contracting firm. The father figured he was doing his son a favor by making out a W2 for an amount substantially below the going wage for similar jobs in the same company, while paying the difference under the table.

I suspected what kind of client I had before me when the man's first words to me were, "I don't see why I should have to pay taxes, because I work for a living."

I inferred that he thought I didn't, and I almost said, "Oh, I don't?" But instead I gave my stock answer to clients who are extremely dissatisfied with the tax code: "Well, I guess you'll have to vote for politicians who will pass the tax laws that you like." My guess is that the man never voted for anyone in his life. Anyway, I prepared the return based on the W2 he handed me.

Some time later he returned and asked me to prepare another tax return showing a greater income because he wanted to obtain a loan to buy a house. I could only tell him that the W2 we used to prepare his tax return was the only knowledge I had of his income, so there was no way I could prepare a different return. He went away somewhat angry, and I suppose his father prepared another W2 which he took to another tax preparer. I never saw him again. While I am a firm believer in taking advantage of every break the law allows, this man and his father were just plain dishonest, and I frankly hope they get caught.

At one time I kept the books for a businessman who, I am sure, was skimming income off the top, although I couldn't prove it. In any event, he always managed to show a small loss at the end of the year. Of course, he paid neither income tax nor self employment (social security) tax. Eventually he sold his business and I lost track of him.

Several years later he called me, and said that he had had a stroke, and when he tried to collect disability social security, there was no record of his having paid any. He wanted to know why not. He who dances must pay the piper.

The social security system started in 1936. In 1977 I received a call from a man who had operated a cash business for his entire life, and now that he was approaching retirement age, he wanted to catch up on his social security payments. He didn't even have a social security number. When I explained to him the problems involved in "catching up" after 40 years, he decided to scale back his retirement plans substantially.

Sometimes a client just forgets something important. Take the client who, at 85 years of age, is still a practicing physician. Several days after he had picked up his return, he called and said I had not claimed an exemption for his wife. In all the time I have been doing his return, he was single!

He explained that he had got married this past year to a young lady of 61. He had just forgotten to tell me. One would think that at his age, that fact would not be easy to forget. He had remembered to tell me he was still supporting his sons, aged 48 and 50. I suspect he will never be able to retire.

Several years ago a client handed me all sorts of documentation supporting his open heart surgery for the year. The following year when I asked him about his medical expenses, he said, "Oh, the same as last year."

"Wait a minute," I replied. "Your had heart surgery last year. Did they open you up again?"

"You're right," he said. "I just forgot."

I believe him.

"The same as last year" is a popular response to questions about deductible expenses. Often it is tied in with the fact that this year's deduction is printed on the ceiling of my office. When I ask how much was contributed to the church this year, many clients will answer, "How much did I give them last year?"

When I say, "$!,750," they will lean back and look at the ceiling.

"This year it was $1,835." As soon as they say that, the answer disappears from the ceiling! No matter how quickly I glance up there, I am always too late. Amazing!

One year I got a little tired of one client who based all tax information on last year, so I doubled his fee. I was not in the outer office when he picked up his return, but I heard him say something like, "Holy !@#$%. Well, I suppose if you're going to lie, you have to pay for it." Evidently he found a place where he didn't have to pay as much, because I never saw him again.

The IRS will go to great lengths to win a dispute, especially if there is a lot of money involved. In the mid 1970s one of my clients developed a severe back pain. His doctor told him to build a spa and sit in it for at least an hour every day. When my client tried to deduct the cost of the "prescription" spa the IRS said "Huh-uh." The cost of the spa, say $5,000 at that time, added a like amount to the value of the house, so the client had to wait until he sold the property to deduct the cost of the spa.

The client's house was built on the side of a hill, and on the property was a small rental home. The year after the spa incident, there was an earthquake, and a chasm opened up between the two houses. The rental property actually slid part way down the hill. The client hired an appraiser, who submitted 35 pages documenting the fact that the property had lost $80,000 in value due to the earthquake. Five more pages listed the qualifications of the appraiser. We felt we had an iron clad case for deducting the entire $80,000.

Part of the requirements for a casualty loss was that the incident had to be "sudden and unexpected." The IRS stated that in the basement of the local library was a map which had been prepared several years prior to my client's purchase of the property. The map showed clearly that a fault line ran across the property between the two houses. Therefore, while the earthquake clearly was sudden, it could not be unexpected. Deduction denied. Score: IRS 2, taxpayer 0.

Some clients ask a lot for their money. "I can only come on Tuesday night at 7:30." It becomes a problem when I close at 7:00. Or, late Friday afternoon, some will call and say, "I will only be in town tomorrow morning, Can't you reschedule someone else?"

I always cringe when someone says, "Would you answer a quick question for me?"

I'm tempted to answer, "I couldn't care less how quick the question is. How quick is the answer?" It takes about two seconds to ask me to explain the passive loss rules, but I attended a one day seminar getting them explained to me, and I'm still not sure I understand them. Most questions are quick, but unless they can be answered "yes" or "no," the answers seldom are.

Enrolled agents, CPAs and attorneys are required to assert "due diligence." I don't actually have to see the documentation of your medical expenses, but I have to get your assurance that it exists. Suppose you tell me you are married filing separate because you left your spouse in December, and later you learn that a credit you want to take is not available unless you didn't live with him or her for the entire year. If you now change your mind about when you left, I am not supposed to prepare your return because I know you split up in December. When I sign your return, I am declaring that it is true, correct, and complete based on all information of which I have any knowledge.

Occasionally the tax laws have a requirement that leads to an embarrassing situation. A lady in her mid 30s came in one day. She had recently started back to school in order to get her degree. As required for the Hope Education Credit, I asked, "Have you ever had a felony drug conviction?"

As soon as I said it, I could tell by the look on her face that it was an embarrassing question. "Oh God," she said. "I had hoped that was all behind me. Yes, I did several years ago. But I've cleaned myself up and got my life back on track. Do you have to show that?"

"No," I replied. "But you can't take that credit. All, is not lost, however. You can take a lifetime learning credit, which is not as good, but it's better than nothing. But there is nothing noted on your return about a conviction."

Sometimes being a tax preparer is not fun.

Remembering Friends

M anheim High School's class of 1946 gets together on the first Wednesday of every month for breakfast. Of the original 83 members of the class, 15 to 20 usually show up. Yesterday's turnout, October 5, 2005, was average: 18.

We usually spend the time in reminiscing, discussing current events, or comparing our latest aches and pains. I have attended most of them since I moved back from California, and I always enjoy them.

But yesterday was also another milestone(?) for the class: it was the day of the memorial service for the 20th member of the class to die. Harlan "Bud" Rettew passed away on September 24th.

Bud was an outstanding musician, and although I had not seen him for many, many years, I considered him a good friend. I spoke to him on the phone when we visited here in 2000. I knew he was suffering from early Alzheimer's, but he was still lucid at the time. He told me that a mutual friend of ours had recently stayed at his house for several days.

When I spoke to him again in 2003, he told me he had not heard from this same friend for years and years. Since I moved back last year, I have been told that he did not recognize anyone, so I didn't call him again. Perhaps I should have.

When we were in school, Bud and I often performed together; he was an outstanding pianist, and also played the french horn and the harp. I played the saxophone. We spent many hours listening to music and jamming at the home of another jazz enthusiast. The mutual friend I mentioned above was in the Army, and we cut a record for him so he could keep in touch with what we were doing.

Bud's piano playing was always in demand at school affairs. If you could sing a tune, he could play it, complete with rhythm and harmony. But he was also well schooled in the classics, and everyone looked forward to his teaming up with soprano Doris Young to perform O Holy Night during the holiday season.

Bud never married. After graduation he went on to become an art teacher, and I've been told that his musical talent paid his way through college.

After the breakfast yesterday a few of us went to his memorial service, where I learned that he had traveled extensively in India, Egypt, England, Scotland and South America. There were pictures of him on an elephant in India and a camel in Egypt; others showed him among the ruins of Machu Picchu high in the Peruvian Andes. Good for him.

Included in the funeral memento was the following poem written by one of Bud's friends. Although I haven't seen Bud for many years, I believe he would approve of it.

AFTERGLOW

I'd like the memory of me
To be a happy one,
I'd like to leave an afterglow
Of smiles when life is done.
I'd like to leave an echo
Whispering softly down the ways,
Of happy times and laughing times
And bright and sunny days.
I'd like the tears of those who
Grieve to dry before the sun,
Of happy memories that I leave
When my life is done.

Although the service was for Bud, I couldn't help thinking about all those in our class who have passed on. Not surprisingly the pace is quickening. I dug out my booklet from the 50th reunion, and at that time 10 had died, an average of one every five years. Since that time 10 more are gone - almost one per year.

While I had the book out, I reread all the wishful things that were written about those classmates who are no longer with us. From Phyllis in 1946 to Bud in 2005, for a few moments they were still high school seniors to me.

Bud's service became a memorial for Phyllis (1946), Mary (1978), Florence (1978), Joyce (1981), Bruce (1986), Louis (1988), Fay (1990), John (1991), Frank (1992), Joyce (1994), Joe (2000), Phyllis (2002), Elva (2002), Dawson (2002), Dorothy (2003), Katherine (2003), Mary Lou (2004), Charles (2004), Mildred (2004), and Harlan (2005). Thanks for being my friends.

Funerals

I hate funerals!

I am sure that most people feel the same as I do, but I know of one exception: In the small town where I grew up, there was a man, I'll call him Jack, who made a hobby of attending funerals. It didn't matter whether or not Jack knew the guest of honor, he attended every funeral in the area. Cynics said it was for the free food, but I don't believe that for a minute - I believe he was just fascinated by funerals.

My mother worked with Jack for a short time, and when she died, we asked Jack to speak at her funeral. After all, we knew he was going to be there anyway. He did a very creditable job, but why not? After all the eulogies he had heard, he should have been able to deliver one off the top of his head.

Yesterday I attended my mother-in-law's funeral. I loved my mother-in-law, and what's more, I even liked her. She had made her arrangements, including prepayment, five years ago. Bless her heart, she wanted it uncomplicated; no flowers, no eulogies and a closed casket. The ceremony was simple, dignified and short on emotional displays. The modestly draped casket was wheeled in during the first hymn, and the whole ceremony took less than half an hour.

The graveside service was even shorter; in fact, the two mile drive to the cemetery took longer than the ceremony. Again it was simple and dignified. Afterwards people stood around and talked for a few minutes, but since it was quite warm, they dispersed rather quickly.

If it is possible to mention the words "nice" and "funerals" in the same sentence, it would be this one: "The nice thing about funerals is that you get to interact with friends and relatives you don't see on very many other occasions." Over food and drinks (no alcohol in this case), people get to reminisce, tell old, old stories about each other, catch up on happenings since the last funeral, and marvel at how many kids have appeared in the meantime. It's too bad we can't have more of the occasions without having the funerals.

Of all the funerals I will have attended in my lifetime, my own is the one I dread the most. If I had a voice in the matter, I would be there in the flesh with my friends and relatives, having some wine and cheese, telling stories, etc. When it was over, everyone would go home, the guests to their worldly dwellings, and me to wherever I would be spending the rest of time.

Jack would be there, at least in spirit. If you think you could keep him away, you don't know Jack.

Autos I Have Known

Like all teenagers, I was very excited when I received my automobile Learner's Permit. This was before the time of driver's education classes in school, so my uncle Ralph took me out on the road a couple of times and gave me the basics, (stop, start, shift, steer, etc.), and then I was on my own. After that I drove the back roads alone until I felt able to pass the state driving test. OK, so it wasn't legal, but as Chick Hearn used to say, "No harm, no foul." I was young.

After I got my license I borrowed uncle Ralph's 1936 Ford Coupe from time to time, or Grandpa Kauffman's 1936 Plymouth for dates and other special occasions. Sometimes I would wait in Uncle Ralph's car until he got off from work, and go with him to Sporting Hill, where I would switch to Grandpa's car for the evening. Of course, whenever I did that, getting the car back home in the morning was a problem, but it was only a three mile walk, and what the heck, I was still young.

My first accident occurred while I was driving the Plymouth. Fortunately, the other car involved was my uncle Fritz's (my Aunt Dorothy's husband). My parents and I, along with Uncle Fritz and Aunt Dorothy were driving to central Pennsylvania to look at a bed and breakfast which my Mother was interested in buying. One car would be a little cramped with all of us in it, so we decided to take two. Uncle Fritz was leading the way, and got a bit confused about which way to go at an intersection. He jammed on the brakes, and I ran into his car. Damage was minimal, but it shook me up. However, we continued home with no further incidents. What the heck, I was young.

I never had a car of my own until 1952. I was married, living in Manheim and working ten miles away in Lancaster. I asked my father to help me buy a car. We settled on a 1939 Mercury Coupe. It surely wasn't new, but it was the best I could afford. It was OK - I made a round trip to Atlanta in it, and it held up fine. I drove straight through, 24 hours each way, and I never want to do that again. Oh well, I was young.

There was one other adventure in this car. My wife and I had never "made out" in a car, and one night on our way home from a party, we decided to see if it was all it was cracked up to be. I found a parking spot in a country lane, and it turned out that it was not as much fun as people said. But that was just the beginning - when we got ready to go home, we found I had parked in a puddle and it was so slippery that I couldn't get out. We tried all sorts of strategies - rocking back and forth, putting pieces of wood under the wheels, pushing, you name it - but nothing worked. It was a bit embarrassing to sit there until the next morning when a farmer came by and pulled us out with his tractor. And it was also embarrassing when we got home and had to explain to the babysitter and her father, whom she had called to wait with her. For some reason we were never able to hire her, or any of her friends, again. It was definitely not a good night. Did I mention that we were young?

A couple of years later the Mercury was showing signs of advanced age. Again with the help of my father, I bought a 1952 Ford Sedan. It was fine, and as I recall, there were no special happenings in it.

When my father died, he left me a small insurance policy, and I used that for the down payment on a brand new Nash Rambler station wagon. I believe it was the first new car anyone in my family had ever owned. It had one feature which I have never seen in any other car - a push button gear shift mechanism. The buttons were located on the dashboard on the left side of the steering column. In starting, I depressed the clutch and pushed the "low" button. When I released the clutch the car started out. While still in low, I pushed the "second" button, and when I depressed and released the clutch, the car shifted into second gear. And so on. Sort of a stick shift without the stick.

My next car was a Corvair station wagon. The engine was in the rear, and although the traction was good on icy roads, the steering was not so hot. Besides, Ralph Nader's book Unsafe At Any Speed soon ended the popularity of the Corvair.

I traded that for a new Dodge sedan. Since I don't recall any particular pros or cons about that car, I suppose it was adequate. Oh, it was the car I was driving when I started dating Barbara, so I do remember some exciting events which I won't go into at this time.

When my employer decided to transfer me to California, I sold the Dodge and leased a Mustang Convertible - maroon with a black top. It looked slick, but had a few problems. The night before I was scheduled to drive it west, a bolt worked loose in the engine block, and the fan kept hitting it. Fortunately nothing dropped off. The second day into my trip, the radio conked out. It was supposed to be equipped with smog equipment in accordance with California requirements, but it wasn't. It cost a few hundred dollars to get it corrected. One day we took another couple for a drive into the mountains around Los Angeles, and the engine got overheated to the extent that I had to shut off the air conditioner. That was probably not too unusual, except that this car was supposed to be equipped with a more powerful engine so that such a thing never happened.

I also had an accident with this car, although it was not my fault. We were the second car in line in the left turn lane at a traffic light. When the light turned green, the lady ahead of me drove into the intersection and stopped to allow oncoming traffic to pass. I pulled up to the crosswalk to wait for the lady to make her turn. But she didn't. Apparently afraid that she would not have time to make the turn after all the traffic passed, she decided to back up into the left turn lane. Because of the car behind me, I couldn't move, so she backed right into me. I had a hard time explaining to the insurance company how I had collided with the rear end of another car, and I wasn't moving. Eventually they understood.

We traded the Mustang for a Pinto - a car, not a pony. It was smaller and lighter, and again I don't remember anything special about it except that the gas mileage was much improved over the Mustang.

The Pinto was eventually traded in on a Mazda Station Wagon with a rotary engine. It worked fine until one day the catalytic converter gave out, and it gave off so much smoke that people thought southern California was smoggy even on a clear day.

One day we stopped at the end of a line of cars, but the driver behind me was busy knocking the ashes off her cigarette, so she plowed into me, shoving me into the car ahead. My insurance paid the repairs except for the deductible. A year later my insurance company refunded the deductible - the lady who caused the accident had been making payments and repaid the whole thing. At that time there were still some honest people out there.

At this time I was going to college, and we needed a second car, so I got a Mazda Coupe with a conventional engine. One evening on the way to school I heard a clank, and realized I had run over something in the roadway. Everything seemed to be working OK, but after a few minutes I noticed I was getting low on gas. Since I had just filled the tank in the morning, I thought to myself, "Houston, we have a problem." I pulled into a service station, and discovered that whatever I had hit had punctured my gas tank. More fun.

Some time later the upholstery was getting a bit shabby in the Coupe, so I stopped at a Mexican upholstery shop for an estimate. "One hundred dollars if you pay cash, and one hundred six dollars if you pay with a check" was the quote. I paid cash, and I assume the state of California lost out on six dollars sales tax. Not my problem, I think.

By this time the Mazda Station Wagon was getting old, so we sold it and bought a Chevette Coupe. One morning we had an earthquake, and many of the traffic lights were not working. On the way to work Barbara entered an uncontrolled intersection at the same time as another driver on the cross street. Barbara got there first, so she got the worst of the collision. No one was hurt, but the car was not so lucky.

Shortly after we had it repaired, Barbara was driving to work when it lost power. She had it towed to a shop. She picked it up a few days later, and while driving home it stopped again. This time it was towed to a dealer and repaired right.

Next we got rid of the Mazda Coupe and bought a Buick Skylark. That got damaged when another driver ran a red light. I was dressed for my morning workout at the gym, and when the young lady driving the other car saw me she said, "My daddy works out too, and you look just like him." She was black! When the police arrived, she said, "I don't know what I was thinking. I just didn't see the light." The cop looked at me and said, "You can go." Daddy's insurance company repaired my car.

Shortly thereafter my employer decided to provide me with wheels. By this time the paint on the Skylark was peeling off, so I sold it, skin cancer and all. My company car was a Buick Century, which I bought when I left the company.

Some years later we got rid of the Chevette and bought a Buick Regal, a car Barbara really did not care for. But I did, so we traded the Century in on a Skylark for Barbara. She loved it.

The last car we got was a Mercury Sable which we still have at this time (2006). Our final auto transaction occurred after Barbara retired. We sold the Buick Skylark.

If I have counted correctly, that comes to 17 cars with which I have become familiar in the past 75+ years. We have decided that our next car will be smaller and less expensive. Of course, there are a few little things we would like to have on it. Because Barbara is not very tall, she likes the fact that the Mercury has pedals which can be adjusted for people with short legs. And I like the idea that I can't lock myself out, which I have done several times, because the door can be opened without a key if one knows the combination. And we might want to travel a little more, so a medium sized car is a lot more comfortable than a small car. And if we are going to travel, a GPS sure would be nice.

Well maybe our next car might not be all that small. After all, we're still young.

Speak English Please

Although I am not a member of the "speech police," I am annoyed that the media has recently adopted usages that I find irritating. I know that the English language changes over time, but I believe that changes should make sense.

For example, Webster's Encyclopedic Unabridged Dictionary defines the word "troop" as: 1. an assemblage of persons or things; company; band. 2. a great number or multitude.

I usually think of a troop as a group of boy scouts, state troopers or military personnel. As a result, when I hear the talking head say that more than 100 troops arrived home today, I imagine that the docks were inundated with thousands of soldiers, sailors or marines pouring out of a long line of ships. But this is media newspeak meaning that 100 service members, possibly a troop, arrived home today.

Another example from Webster's: unique; 1. existing as the only one or as the sole example; solitary in type or character. 2. having no like or equal; unparalleled; incomparable.

Recently I read an article in the New York Times, describing the Boston Red Sox pitcher Daisuke Matsuzaka as being, among other things, so unique that blah, blah, blah. I presume the writer feels that since Matsuzaka is uniquer than anyone else, he is the uniquest of all. I have also heard a TV host talking about one of the most unique things she ever saw.

Now I realize that Matsuzaka is unique, and the host may have been describing a unique object, but neither one is more or less unique than any other unique object. One would think newspaper editors and TV writers would know better. If your object is the only one of its kind, it's unique. Otherwise it's not.

Many people complain that they have a disorder that prevents them from enjoying the sensation of touch. At least that's what they are really saying when they use the phrase "I feel badly . . . " to indicate they have a sympathetic reaction to some bad news. Badly refers to the sensation of feeling, and might be correct if, say, ones fingertips were sanded off so that no sensation of touching passed to the brain. The word "bad" in "I feel bad . . " refers to the speaker, not to his or her nervous system; it indicates the emotional attachment one means to express. The same is true of all linking verbs such as feel, taste, smell, etc.

Although often heard, remarks such as "A-Rod is better than any player in all of baseball," and "Sir Clyde of Lemon is better than any dog in the show," don't even make sense. To be true, both A-Rod and Sir Clyde would have to be better than themselves. Give me a break!

A southern drawl or a Midwestern accent is one thing, but mispronunciation is something else entirely. TV reporters take great pains to avoid an accent, so when I hear one say that one event ummediately followed another, I assume that the speaker has some kind of speech impediment. To pronounce the word as if the first letter were "u" instead of "i" leaves a bad umpression.

Apparently some people who should know better have a problem differentiating "pre" from "per." I often hear statements such as, "The accident could have been pervented." Please folks, when you talk like that it persents all your old English professors in a bad light.

From time to time new figures of speech appear in ordinary conversation, but lately one has appeared that is completely useless: "I want to say: yada, yada, yada." If you want to say something, just say it. I will jump to the wild and crazy assumption you wanted to say it, and if you didn't want to, I will allow you to go back and make a correction. Life is short, save your breath.

Lastly, I will very briefly mention the language of athletes: sentences such as "It's like . . . you know . . . whatever."

Enough said.

Lightning and Thunder

This morning I woke up about 4:00 o'clock, and about 4:45 I realized I was not going to get back to sleep anytime soon. I decided there was no use disturbing Barbara with my tossing and turning, so I got up.

Wandering into the living room, I looked out onto the dark world. At that hour of the day a retirement village is about as exciting as watching a tree form its annual ring, so I lay back in my recliner and tried to relax.

I noticed some lightning and heard some thunder which appeared to be way off in the distance. But as I listened, it seemed to get brighter and louder, so I assumed it was getting closer. After a time, however, it again seemed to retreat.

About 5:30 I felt relaxed enough to go back to bed. I guess I woke Barbara up, because she said, "I hear thunder."

"Yes," I said. "But I think it is getting farther away. I believe the storm has passed us by." Just at that moment, we saw a very bright flash of lightning and almost simultaneously heard a very loud crash of thunder. "Or maybe not."

Within a short time the light and sound display had increased substantially. All of a sudden there was an extremely bright flash and crash, (to coin a phrase, a "shock and awe" type thing), and a deluge started. Just when it seemed it couldn't rain any faster, it did. I believe that anyone caught in that downpour would have drowned. Well, maybe not, but it was raining really, really fast.

After about half an hour the fireworks began to recede, although the rain continued to fall. Eventually the displays became very faint, and the rain gradually ebbed. Soon it turned into a steady patter, which continued for several hours.

I like thunderstorms. In my opinion the raw and powerful display put on by mother nature is far more exciting than any man-made pyrotechnics, and I find the sound of the rain soothing. They were rare in our area of California, and I missed them.

But there is one problem: I have a habit of trying to determine how far away each lightning bolt is. After each flash I have to count, "Zero and one, zero and two . . . zero and four, zero and five, one thousand one, one thousand two . . . one thousand four, one thousand five, two thousand one . . . etc." (Since sound travels about 1100 feet per second, it takes about five seconds to travel a mile). I would much prefer to observe thunderstorms during the day, because then they don't wake me up.

Even though there were no more distances to calculate, I never did get back to sleep. Oh well, I will tonight.

Show Business

On 31 January 2008, Barbara and I attended the show Midlife! The Crisis Musical. It was recommended by a neighbor, who said it was hilarious. He was correct. I thought I recognized some of the characters, then I realized I was seeing myself.

Two scenes in particular hit home: In one a man walked into a room and couldn't remember what he was looking for; the other was of two men in a doctor's office, waiting for a prostate exam. I could identify closely with both scenes. I am sure most of the situations are familiar to anyone who has reached the age of 40.

We do not see plays as often as we used to. Since we have been in Pennsylvania (2004) we have gone to four plays - approximately one per year. At one time we held season tickets to several playhouses - sometimes two at the same time. (Different dates of course). I estimate we saw at least 150 plays during the 37 years we lived in California, ranging from rank amateur to very professional productions.

When we first arrived there we attended shows at a theater-in-the-round, where we saw the likes of Betsy Palmer in South Pacific and Richard Harris in Camelot.

For several years we had tickets to the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion, the premier playhouse in Los Angeles. Another couple attended with us, and we all went out to dinner after the performances. Obviously, we went to matinees.

Probably the most boring play we saw there was A Man For All Seasons, featuring Sally Kellerman. I had read the book, and was very disappointed with the production. I would say this play was very forgettable, but it was so bad that I can't forget it, no matter how hard I try.

We saw Phantom Of The Opera twice, and loved the exciting music of Andrew Lloyd Webber and the wonderful special effects - the crashing chandelier and the phantom rowing a boat across the stage, among others.

Probably the funniest show we saw there actually consisted of two "dark" plays. One in particular - whose name I can't remember - was hilarious, not only because of the action on the stage, but also the action of some of the spectators around us. The idea was that when the stage lights were lit, the characters were supposed to be floundering around in darkness, and when the lights were off, they were supposed to be able to see. As the lights were turned on and off, people around us were saying, "Now are the lights supposed to be on or off?" By the time the show was over, they still hadn't figured it out.

We saw some big names in show business: Liz Taylor, Jack Lemmon, Charlton Heston , and many others. We found that the biggest names did not always indicate the best shows.

Eventually the quality of the plays downtown went into a recession at the same time the prices were suffering from inflation, so we dropped those tickets and bought others at a smaller theater near our house. Again the plays varied in quality. For example, The Mystery Of Edwin Drood was a musical based on a novel that Charles Dickens was working on when he died. Much of the action took place in the audience as the actors wandered about the theater. Since it was unfinished, the audience was offered a choice of two endings. We didn't particularly care for the play or the endings, but that's just us.

Another show which did not impress us, especially since we had seen it before, was Annie. I guess people thought that since the star was a child, it would be a good play for their children to see. But it's not; it's a play about the great depression, and kids do not understand the situations. They soon become bored, and it's very distracting. Also, I suppose I am getting older, but it seems to me the singing is more shouting than musical.

On the other hand, Foxfire, starring Hume Cronyn and Jessica Tandy was outstanding.

In addition to our season ticket attendances, we managed to see a few other performances. One we particularly enjoyed was Jesus Christ, Superstar at the Universal Amphitheater in Hollywood. We went there with Barbara's sister and her husband, who happened to be visiting us at the time. We all thought it was very good - I believe the brother-in-law used it as a teaching point in his Sunday school class.

At that performance Groucho Marx happened to be in the audience. While he was deep into the twilight of his life, he had two very young and very beautiful ladies helping him get around. I have never seen a nicer pair of crutches.

We also attended some very amateur productions, but fortunately I don't remember much about any of them.

Some of our adventures happened outside the theater. On one occasion we were going to dinner after the performance. The husband of the couple with us decided to take us to a Greek restaurant he had found. After driving around for quite some time, he admitted he didn't know exactly where it was. He kept telling us, "But I know how to find it from the airport." After about an hour he decided to go to the airport and start over. He really did know how to find it from the airport - It took him about five minutes. The food was good, but it was not that good.

I am glad we managed to see all those plays, but I am not quite as excited about live theater as I used to be. I wonder why.

The Super Bowl

I am not sure, but I think that 3 February 2008 was the biggest holiday of the year. Possibly Christmas is bigger, but in reality the Christmas season runs for at least four weeks - the Super Bowl spans only one day. I know, I know, the hoopla starts several days before the game, but most of it is concentrated in that one day.

2.7 million dollars for a thirty second advertising spot! That's for the time only - it does not include the actual production of the ad! Unbelievable! But it pays off - for some people the commercials are more fun than the game.

The game itself was a defensive war through the first three quarters. The Patriots were a twelve point favorite, but their vaunted offense was unable to make much headway against the Giants stubborn defense. But things started to heat up in the fourth quarter. With just over three minutes to go, the Patriots scored their second touchdown, and led 14 to 10.

When the Giants got the ball they ground out a few yards at a time - much too slowly to go the length of the field and score. But on 3rd down and five, and badly needing a first down to keep the drive alive, the Giants' quarterback somehow managed to scramble out from beneath a ton of Patriots and threw a dangerous pass downfield. I expected him to fall on his knees and pray, but some higher power was way ahead of him.

The receiver, a backup player's backup, leaped into the air with a defender hanging onto his back. Bending over backwards he jammed the ball against his helmet in order to keep the defender from clawing it away! Four plays later the actual touchdown pass was almost an anticlimax. The final score: Giants 17, Patriots 14. Bookies will be buying Rogaine for weeks.

This was Super Bowl XLII, and I probably have seen at least a part of each of the previous ones. But because of special circumstances, a few of them stand out.

As the 2007 game got under way, some of us had not quite got settled in front of the TV set. "Oh well," someone remarked, "Nothing much happens this early in the game." Except in this case, the opening kickoff was run back the length of the field for a touchdown. Thank heaven for instant replays.

Of course the 2004 game stands out in everyone's memory because of the "wardrobe malfunction" that occurred during the halftime show. To illustrate how exciting the game was, I had fallen asleep and missed the skin show.

To see what all the excitement was about, I went to YouTube to replay the uncensored clip. Even if I had been awake, I would have missed it if I blinked. I am convinced that if people had just kept quiet, no one would have remembered it by the next day. Think of the millions of dollars that would have been saved in investigations by the NFL, FCC, Congress and who knows who else.

Some years ago the final score of the game was 51 to 3. It so happened that we were watching the game with friends, and by half time it was more of a rout than a game. We all decided to turn it off and do other things. As I recall, we even went to the store for more goodies.

The TV coverage of yesterday's game started at 6:00 p.m. and lasted until after 10:30. I think that's about average. One year we had theater tickets for the same time as the game, so I taped it and watched it when we got home. I hit fast forward through everything except the actual playing time - commercials, halftime show, even the huddles. I saw the entire game in 45 minutes.

In spite of all the excitement which surrounds each game, nothing else stands out about any of the past events. I suppose the memory of this year's game will also fade after a while.

I can't wait until next year.

Memories

Probably most people born before 1930 can remember where they were and what they were doing when they heard that the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor. Likewise most born before 1950 remember their location and activity when they heard of the assassination of president Kennedy. And I am sure that people born prior to 1990 remember where they were and what they were doing on September 11, 2001. Why bring this up?

In 1996 I purchased a computer program for recording a daily journal. I faithfully kept it up every day through 2004. At that point I discovered that everything dated between July 28 and October 25 of that year had disappeared from my hard drive. Gone! Zilch! Nada! And the software company no longer serviced the program! To say that I was upset would be an understatement.

So beginning in 2005 I started keeping my daily journal on a new program - one for which technical services were available.

I have finally got around to transferring my journal from the old program to the new one. During the process I have been reading some of the stuff I wrote during the period I was using the old one. I am amazed at how much I have forgotten - things that I am sure seemed important when I wrote them - and now I don't remember anything about them.

For example, apparently I took a course in Creative Writing in 1998. I don't remember a thing about it, although I completed ten lessons and got a good grade. One would think I should remember something like that, but I don't.

After Barbara retired in 2000, we made it a point to go on a "date" once a week. Usually we went to a movie and had dinner at a restaurant afterward. As I look back over the movies we saw, I remember very little about any of them. I don't even remember the titles. Apparently I enjoyed most of them, but when I try to remember anything about them I draw a complete blank.

Equally strange is the ability of the mind to remember things that never happened. Mark Twain once said he is not surprised at how much he remembers, but he is surprised about how much he remembers that isn't true.

Recently I read a column in which the writer mentioned that he used to go with a girl whose father gave him some good advice. He distinctly remembers standing on the porch at the family's summer place, and her father came through the door and told him whatever it was.

Some time ago he ran into the girl after many years, and mentioned the incident to her. "But our summer place did not have a porch," she said, and showed him pictures to prove it.

I have written about a favorite place of mine when I was about ten years old. I remember sitting under a huge tree in a meadow, and thinking about whatever ten year olds think about. Recently I went back to that meadow. There is no tree, nor is there any indication that there ever was one - no stump, rotting branches, nothing. But I still remember it.

The mind is a funny thing.

A Parable For the 21st. Century

The governing council of Utope, a small town on the far away planet of Widworld, decided many years ago that its first responsibility was "to improve the living conditions for the citizens of Utope." The council's activities were financed by the local taxes, which were levied in a loose relationship to each citizen's income.

Over the years the council's members were more or less equally divided between two approaches to achieving the "improvements." While the Repos believed primarily that the use of alcoholic beverages should be prohibited, and secondarily that the local taxes should be reduced, the Demos felt that the taxes should be used to help citizens, particularly the neediest youngsters, to obtain good medical care. In addition, the old dam north of town was developing some alarming cracks, and the Demos wanted to expend some funds on its repair before it collapsed, leaving the town waist-deep in water.

Because the leadership of the council swung back and forth across the 50% line, the actual utilization of the town's funds at any particular time depended upon which group was in control.

Using a bit of subterfuge and even some downright lying, the currently controlling Repos recently persuaded the Demos, along with nearly everyone else in town, that a fancy new convention center would be a lucrative project. While current taxes were insufficient to fund the entire project, construction funds would be borrowed as needed. After all, the money flowing in after the completion of the project would easily pay off the loan.

Soon after the papers were signed, word leaked out about the shaky accounting basis for the profitability forecasts. Because the preconstruction studies were rushed, the builders ran into unexpected ground water, sinkholes and other unforseen problems; the cost overruns began to mount up. At the pace the construction was proceeding, it appeared as if the building would not be completed for a long time, perhaps for many years.

The Demos and their followers were outraged, but since there was no way to get out of the contract, they had to go along with the continual demands for more funds. Besides, holes had been dug, foundations laid, supplies were piled up at the site, and the whole thing would be a terribly embarrassing eyesore if construction were to be abandoned.

Of course, with so much money going into the new building, there was very little left to fund the other pet projects of the two factions. Although the Repos' leadership was able to slip a few dollars to the prohibition campaign, there was no way they could reduce taxes. By the same token, the Repos blocked any attempt by the Demos to either make medical care available for the town's youngsters, or to expend any money on their dam repairs. The council was de facto deadlocked!

Although it was not a high priority, there were several Demos who were willing to consider the benefits of prohibition, and in addition, there were many who would not be averse to a reduction in their taxes. Also there were many Repos who were in favor of healthy children, and even some who agreed as to the need to do something about the cracks in the dam.

But the leaders of each faction were so busy labeling their opposite numbers as those dam(n) Demos (who were always(?) in favor of spending more, more, more), and the cheapskate Repos (who had absolutely no pity(?) for those poor, sick kids), that no one realized there were members of the opposing faction who might have been willing to compromise on a few items. Mirroring the split in the council, the citizens of Utope soon split into two belligerent camps.

Will the council work its way out of the convention center problems? Will the drunks take over the town? Will the sick kids die before they have a chance to pay off the loans their elders have set up for them? Will the dam break? Or will sanity suddenly break out? Stay tuned.

Meanwhile the other citizens of Widworld cannot believe that mature(?) human beings can be so stupid.

Guardian Angels

Recently I read that 50% of Americans believe in guardian angels - supernatural beings that protect individuals from harm. Stories abound about people who were in dire trouble, and an angel showed up to remedy the situation. Here are two:

A lady is driving down a deserted country road at night, and gets a flat tire. Not having a cell phone, and with no idea how to change a tire, she apparently will be stranded for quite some time. Suddenly a man shows up out of the darkness, and changes her tire for her. When she goes for her purse to offer him some money, he is no longer there. He must have been an angel.

A driver is waiting at a red traffic light. When the light changes to green, he tries to drive, but his car refuses to move. While he is trying to get going, a careless driver speeds through the red light, after which our driver's car moves just fine. If his car had moved when he first tried, the other driver would have crashed into him. He was protected by an angel.

But whose angel was it? The speedster was also saved from becoming involved in a serious crash. Perhaps his angel was the guardian.

In 14th century England there lived a Franciscan friar known as William of Occam. He advanced a principle - Occam's Razor - that is still in vogue today. Boiled down to everyday language, it says that if a given event has more than one explanation, accept the simplest one.

In the first instance above, the simplest explanation is that a nearby resident was out for a stroll when he spotted a lady in distress. He helped her, then took off into the night from which he came. She may consider him to be an angel, but there is nothing supernatural about him.

In the second story, Occam's Razor would suggest that the car refused to move because of vapor lock, dirt in the fuel line, or other mechanical failure - again nothing supernatural.

In neither case is it necessary to postulate some sort of divine intervention. I find it hard to believe that the creator of the universe set up a series of "laws" which He is deliberately going to break whenever one of his creatures gets into trouble.

It has been said that it is very difficult to prove that something does not exist. For example, Bertrand Russell wrote, "If I were to suggest that between the Earth and Mars there is a china teapot revolving about the sun in an elliptical orbit, nobody would be able to disprove my assertion provided I were careful to add that the teapot is too small to be revealed even by our most powerful telescopes." I am sure that almost everyone would agree with Russell that the probability that such a teapot exists is very, very low.

So for all I know, somewhere among the billions and billions of stars there may be planets overflowing with unicorns, or on millions of them there may be a man named Santa Claus, who delivers toys to tots from a flying sleigh once a year. Likewise, there may be gazillions of angels flying around in outer space. But because there is no real evidence that any of these are true, I would set the probability of finding them very low.

Here is a question for angelophiles: If everyone has a guardian angel, why are there any accidents?