Doing the funky chicken comes of age

More recently I realized that I had, in fact, constructed an enormous Rube Goldberg of self delusion regarding the exact number of years that have passed since my birth.

I spent spring break in South Florida with the beautiful people.

At this point, the accomplished storyteller should be waxing poetic about the exploits of her college break (sadly, only one) spent in sunny Florida in order to move the storyline forward. While I would love to re-live those few short days on the beach in Fort Lauderdale, and embellish my memories enough to make them worth reading about, I fear pushing the rewind button on that coming-of-age period in my life would trigger enough specifics to flash the approximate date of that trip across my conscious mind causing me to be just one spontaneous subtraction problem away from inadvertently recalling my current age, rounded to the nearest year. I’m pretty good at math, so I’ve decided not to go there. Continue reading “Doing the funky chicken comes of age”

A game of Beat the Clock and a kiss goodnight

“I can spell dog, d-o-g. I can spell log, l-o-g. I can spell hog, h-o-g. But I can’t spell hippopotamus.”

[As our son, Benn, was graduating kindergarten, my husband and I had no idea that one day he would be an enthusiastic agricultural student at Clemson University, racking up 4.0 averages during his first four semesters. And where did he get his love of farming? (Don’t look at me.) From Arnold Ziffel, of course.]

As the dog days of summer overtake me, I like to reflect on the pleasant, yet unusual way my summer began – at a kindergarten graduation. Participating in the pomp and circumstance of five- and six-year-olds engaged in their last hurray of innocence is an activity enjoyed mainly by young, enthusiastic parents, and wise, seasoned grandparents. Continue reading “A game of Beat the Clock and a kiss goodnight”

Death and taxes

Living forever sounds like a full-time job to me, and doesn’t seem to include the orange juice and a half a bag of Ruffles® I had for breakfast.

Benjamin Franklin said, “The only things certain in life are death and taxes.” If you believe Ray Kurzweil, the modern-day Thomas Edison, by the end of the 21st century Franklin’s adage may have to be altered to read, “The only thing certain in life is taxes.”

Kurzeweil, a proponent of the coming singularity–a technological “event horizon,” of sorts, in which we mere humans will be able to augment our bodies and minds with a cocktail that includes genetics, nanotechnology, and robotics resulting in the emergence of greater-than-human super-intelligence–teamed up with Terry Grossman, M.D. to devise a prescription to halt the aging process so we can all be around (barring being hit by a meteor) in mid-century when our evolution is expected to take a giant leap forward. Here’s what these two suggest in their book, “Transcend”: Continue reading “Death and taxes”

Consents, concerns and failure to fit

Hey pharmaceutical companies! We aging Baby Boomers are neither deaf nor stupid!

“Have you heard this news story about how some universities are requiring students to have a written agreement before they have…well, you know?” I asked my husband as I pointed to the television.

Stephen smirked. “Nothing says amour quite like a signed affidavit.”

My husband. Always the grammarian…and smart aleck. Continue reading “Consents, concerns and failure to fit”