Cheese, Please

Whining is what it is . . . whining.

Every so often a person needs to complain.  I know that I do.  Let off a little steam.  Release some pressure.  Complain.  The wife calls it “whining.”  But it works for me.  Author Franny Billingsley says, “I adore complaining—it calms the nerves.”  Franny sounds like my kind of person.

 

Probably the most common retort that people encounter with their complaining or whining is: “Do you want some cheese with that whine?”

 

Your darn tootin’ I do!  Cheese, please!

 

It might be that I have been super crazy busy at my university job working six days a week and several evenings for the past month and not having a break that has made me whiny lately.  It might be that I am getting older and crankier to the point I am embracing my inner Henry Fonda from On Golden Pond.  Twenty/twenty hindsight is much more nostalgic when life was much better than today . . . could be that sort of thinking.  Maybe it is because I see the finish line as I am nearing full retirement.  Maybe I’m tired . . . hungry.  Who knows?  All I know is that I need to vent . . . and, yes, I will take some cheese with it.

 

One of my complaints—which seems to be everyone’s complaint—it about this constant circus of politics.  Especially during a presidential election year.  I’m sure everyone is aware that it is a presidential election year . . . it is historic.  On one side there is a septuagenarian . . . on the other side is an octogenarian.  Old!  They are both old.  One has been the president or at least a clown in office depending on who you ask.  Historians have not been kind to him and nor should they be.  He is running again for the third time after losing his re-election bid to the sitting president—the octogenarian.  Their age is showing.  They have had their moments of elder-ism—forgetful, incoherency, brain farts, gaps in memory, plain old “old”.  Things that I am experiencing as I enter the “golden years”.

 

Those are our choices.  With 332 million people in our country and this is the best that the political parties can come up with.  It’s sad.  It’s embarrassing.  There are not a lot of choices.  Thankfully the septuagenarian has demonstrated over and over again what a terrible human being he is.  His terribleness is quite public and recorded for all to read and see.  It is a joke that such an individual is even being considered to lead our nation.  It is an insult to all of us as citizens of our nation . . . insult to our intelligence and morals.

 

At the same time the octogenarian is an accomplished politician.  Pretty much a “lifer” when it comes to politics.  That should be a warning sign and a clear strike against him as his past is right there for public consumption.  He’s got the experience since he’s done it for so long . . . good or bad . . . but, hey!  Surely there is some younger and fresher blood out there!  Also, his age is showing, as are all our ages.  It probably won’t get any better as time goes on.  He is a nice grandfatherly figure . . . but, really—is this the best that we can do?

 

Politics of any sort . . . suck.  Nasty business.  And this is what we have right now.  Not much of a choice.  It will come down to choosing the lesser of what many consider the “two evils”.  I’ll take grandfatherly over the one constantly being hauled before grand juries.

 

That is my political rant . . . and rant it was.  Probably didn’t make much sense, but I feel better.

 

Gas prices.  The oil companies succeeded in luring us asleep as they slowly lowered prices over the past few months.  Almost convinced us that they were “good”.  Now they are slapping us awake with the bleak reality of soaring prices at the pumps.  Some say that it is because the price of oil is up on the global scene.  Others have said that the warmer winter has seen an increase in the seasonal demand . . . that more people are driving.  Still others say it’s because the refineries are shifting from the winter blend to the summer blend . . . summer blend costs more to make, thus someone must eat the price of it all.  And there is the fact that OPEC is playing economic bully politics and holding back the supply.

 

Excuses, excuses, excuses!

 

All I know is that I’m nearing the point that I need to take out a second mortgage to be able to make my commute back and forth to work.  The savings that took months to achieve have been completely wiped out in a matter of weeks.  Do I buy into the causes suggested for this gas pump robbery?  Nope.  It is simple greed and power at play.  The companies and corporations keep getting richer while the masses feel the pinch.  That is the way of economics.  Economics is the real religion across the globe.

 

Which brings me to inflation.  The price of everything keeps going up.  A price increase in one area necessitates a price increase in another.  Tit for tat. Inflation is a human-made concept . . . a state of mind . . . a fantasy.  It makes no sense.  Technology and industrialization have made the products we buy supposedly cheaper and better.  Made it possible to save money for the expense of production, thus saving money for the consumer.  Yet, that loaf of bread bought in 1960 for 23 cents now costs $2.01 on the average in 2024.  None of us can barely afford to make a “wish sandwich”.

 

I don’t understand inflation.  All I know is that it is making life miserable and difficult.  I feel for those who have seen their lives squished and impossible by the rising cost of inflation.  I’ll blame the companies and corporations—the rich as they seem to be getting richer as inflation climbs.  Someone is profiting and it ain’t us people from the middle down.  It’s crazy.

 

Same goes for real estate.  As I near retirement the idea of moving to be closer to the grandchildren is a thought the wife and I have bounced around.  But who can afford it?  Since the pandemic real estate has become an unaffordable circus.  When the wife and I bought our house fifteen years ago, we probably paid more for it than it was worth.  At the time we could afford it.  Since then, it has tripled in value.  That’s wonderful.  Turned out to be a great investment.  The problem?  We can’t afford to purchase anything comparable . . . and trust me, it is not a mansion on Easy Street.  It is a fairly common and plain ranch house . . . very much middle class.  Housing is crazy expensive . . . unaffordable . . . and frustrating.  It would be close to financial ruin for us to move.  Inflation or greed?  I feel for those who are just starting out.  It is hard.

 

Wah!  Wah!  Wah!  I need more cheese!

 

The list could go on and on.  I’ve a few bones to pick when it comes to war.  The Ukraine . . . a world war with Russia that the world is letting little ol’ Ukraine fights for us.  It is a war that the world’s nations are happy to let them fight so we don’t have to.  War by proxy.  That is the American way, too.  History shows that as a nation there has only been approximately ten years that we have not either been at war or in a military conflict.  History will also show that we have funded lots of wars and military conflicts across the globe.  Israel’s war against Hamas—or is it the Palestinians—doesn’t seem to be much different.  We have dumped a whole bunch of moola into funding those wars that are supposedly not ours.

 

There has been a lot of destructive waste created by those two wars.  The mass destruction in material and human lives is disgraceful.  It will take generations and decades to recover and rebuild . . . if they can ever really recover from such devastation.  It is “black” mark against and on all of humanity.  Whole generations have been wiped out.  War—any war—is not good.  It goes against God’s desire and demand for love . . . to be God’s loving creation . . . God’s family.

 

Got to throw in there global warming or climate change—whatever you want to call it.  It is not a myth.  It is real.  The average temperature is rising every year and doing so quickly.  This has been one of the mildest and driest winters in Montana.  Even the old timers are getting anxious.  This is not normal.  Snow pack is at 87% when it is typically over 100% at this time of year.  Spring has sprung and it shouldn’t.  With the snow pack and moisture, we have gotten it is going to be a long summer of smoke and fires.

 

Since moving to Montana fifteen years ago, the state has moved into a growing drought.  Across the state the climate ranges from “abnormally dry” to “extreme drought”.  This winter isn’t going to improve it.  Hopefully we will get some late season blizzards and snowstorms.  Global warming and climate change are real.  It is not some fantasy of the liberals.  It is real . . . and it is scary the impact it is having.

 

At the same time, it has extended tourism in Montana.  With warmer weather the tourists have come . . . in droves.  The annual plague.  But I probably shouldn’t complain.  Tourism is big business in Montana.  Tourism provides 43,900 jobs.  Brings in 12.5 million visitors in a state that just has a little over a million inhabitants.  Those tourists spend 5.82 billion dollars while enjoying Big Sky Country.  It produces 315 million dollars in taxes for state and local governments.  Tourism is a big deal in Montana . . . but, boy, what a hassle.  Tourists . . . they are everywhere!  It has practically gotten to biblical proportions . . . like a locust plague.  Yet, they are a necessary crisis no matter how frustrating it is for us locals.

 

Whew . . . this is wearing me out.  The list could go on and on.  There’s plenty to whine about . . . to complain about.  I could rant about being privileged . . . immigration . . . other people whining . . . Republicans . . . Democrats . . . and, always, taxes.  There are gender issues.  Issues about personal freedom and the individual’s right to control their own bodies.  Shoot, I’m probably only scratching the surface, but the cheese is running out.  Whining without cheese is not the same.  It is just ungrateful belly aching.  I have had my say, and I feel better.  Much better. 

 

I have been told that I have that right.  Someone told me that it is “freedom of speech”.  Mokokoma Mokhonoana says, “Most people mostly use freedom of speech as freedom to bitch.”  Well, I have expressed my right.  At the same time, others have the freedom to not listen.  I imagine that will happen.  Yet, I feel better now that I’ve gotten it all off my chest . . . at least for a couple of months . . . after all, it is an election year.

 

In all honesty, my life is not so bad.  I have a wonderful wife who tolerates me . . . dogs that love me . . . a house over my head, food to eat, and a family that continues to amaze and grow . . . grandchildren that are a joy . . . and, I can still get out of bed on my own every morning despite all the complaining from my body.  Life is good.  Whether I believe it or not, I am blessed.  We all are.  If the truth be known, I would rather count my blessings.

 

Besides . . . there is no more cheese . . . and I feel good.

 

Body Talk

As I have gotten older, I have noticed the increase in the willingness of my body to speak up.  I have also noticed that it has gotten quite persistent and noisy in its insistence to be heard.  At times it is boisterous . . . rambunctious . . . rowdy . . . and at times, downright blatant in its demands to be heard.  All the noise is making it difficult to ignore all this body talk.

It all started with the thumbs.  First the left, then the right.  In the beginning it was a gentle, lingering ache announcing its presence . . . like a long-lost friend showing up out of the blue.  The sort of long-lost friend you never liked and didn’t mind being lost.  Because it was sporadic in its appearance, such communication was easy to ignore.

 

That was my mistake.  There is no greater wrath than that of a jilted appendage.  The thumbs were not happy in having their conversation ignored.  They cranked it up a few notches.  From gentle, lingering pain they added sharp stabs of sheering pain.  It expanded its irritation and invited the rest of the hand to join in a litany of complaints.  Then it invited the wrists to join the party.  That was the worst.

 

The wrists didn’t just pipe in with pain.  No, the wrists threw in sharp, piercing—knife-like—stabbing pain.  They locked up and any time I attempted to bend them . . . well, it produced an intense pain that brought tears to my eyes and swear words to my lips.  It practically had me on my knees.  It hurt.  It really, really hurt.

 

The thumbs, hands, and wrists were playing hard ball.  They wanted their presence acknowledged.  I’ll admit, they were hard to ignore.  But . . . HEY!  I’m male and we men know how to ignore a lot when it comes to our bodies.

 

The wife tells me that it is osteoarthritis.  I can’t even pronounce it.  Arthritis.  A common companion to many over the safe of sixty. It’s been camping out in the thumbs, hands, and wrists for quite awhile now.  Thankfully it has not moved its show on the road to other parts of the body—yet.  But I am certain it is plotting a migration down the road.

 

My feet joined the chorus a few years ago.  They have been using the three-prong approach.  It started one night—my feet got hot.  Not warm—HOT!  I had to kick the covers off to cool them off.  It was a hot flash of the feet.  I noticed, but I learned that if I could fall asleep quickly, I could avoid the discomforting message.  Apparently, this miffed the feet.  Pushing the envelope to get my attention they added tingling and pin pricks to the toes.  Not satisfied they also threw in sore heels—much like a stone bruise.  The feet weren’t playing around.  They were banging on the door to be heard.

 

Neuropathy is what the wife tells me it is—nerve damage.  I’m told that it could be because of diabetes.  It could be caused by thyroid dysfunction.  I’m certain that it is not diabetes as I get tested periodically for it since it runs in the family.  I’m good there.  The thyroid . . . maybe.  I have been on thyroid medication for years when it decided to under-function one day.  Like testing for diabetes, I get that tested too on a regular basis.  It is good.  None the less, the feet are demanding to be heard.  I hear them as I gingerly tip toe around.  The more I move, the better they feel.

 

Occasionally the legs jump in the fray.  They are sporadic.  They make surprise announcements of their presence every-so-often by throwing a cramp or Charlie horse.  These sneak attacks remind me of their presence.

 

The eyes have piped in too.  With age my eyesight has started to go AWOL from time to time.  I’m up to trifocals now.  In the morning, they take longer to warm up and focus.  I have some fairly large floaters swimming around.  Cataracts are developing too.  At least that is what my eye doctor tells me.  I’m also told that my brain will adjust to the floaters, and they will disappear from my sight.  Basically, that my brain will ignore them.  I’m still waiting.

 

Speaking of the brain . . . it is still sharp, but not as sharp as it used to be.  It doesn’t multi-function like it used to.  One or two tasks maximum seems to be its limit.  More than that . . . well, it gets forgetful.  It gets distracted.  It enjoys exploring rabbit holes.  Sometimes it goes on vacation.  Most of the time it is one step behind.  It doesn’t bother me a whole bunch as I have plenty of people willing to speak and think for me.  No shortage there.  I guess I should be concerned, but for the most part it is functioning.  I know my name, address, and wife’s name and phone number.  I’m doing okay.

Hearing likes to complain from time to time—especially in crowds.  I’ll admit that I do not hear as well as I once did.  Building grain bins tempered my ability to hear.  Crowds and noisy situations make it hard to hear.  Yes, the television is cranked up.  So, yes, I’m certain I have hearing loss, but I like the sound of silence.  Despite organic hearing loss, the wife tells me I also have selective hearing loss.  True, it is another male trait, while at the same time a common practice.  Especially around politicians during election years.

 

There are other parts of my body crying to be heard.  The top of my head whines from time to time about it being cold due to the lack of hair.  Been that way since my young adult days,  Major defection.  My hair has been flying from the coop for years migrating to other parts of my body--the back, ears, and nose.  I guess I could let the hair on my ears grow and create a comb over for my head.  If God knows the number of hairs on my head, then God should thank me for making the number easier to remember each year.

 

The belly Throws in its pound—actually pounds—worth of lament.  It seems to have moved south as time flies.  It has settled quite well in the mid-section of my body where it is has set up camp.  More than once I have mistaken for the poppin’ fresh dough boy from Pillsbury.

 

Occasionally the back throws in a kink to deal with.  The lungs can huff and puff.  The ol’ bladder demands more frequent attention.  The plumbing flares up from time to time.  The nose likes to run more often.  My stomach is pickier. 

 

It is quite a conversation that the body is waging and engaging in.  One I should probably listen to.

 

Years ago, there was a Peanuts cartoon where Snoopy is jogging.  It is a nice, peaceful jog until the feet shout out, “Without us there could be no jogging!”  The legs disagreed and said so.  Well, soon other parts of the body were arguing as to who was the most important part of the body.  Louder and louder the argument got.  It was getting to be too much.  Then suddenly a voice shattered the noise: “Without me, you’re all gone!”  It was the heart.  The arguing stopped.  The noise dissipated.  Snoopy jogged on in peaceful quietness.

 

From time to time, I need to remind myself and my body that my heart is what makes it all function and work.  That it is in control.  That it is good.  It is strong.  It is filled with love.  That it is happy.  That it is functioning.  That it I good to be alive.  In those moments of silence and acknowledgement the body remembers . . . it is “all for one and one for all!”  Despite it all . . .despite the noise . . . all the commotion . . . life is good and we all still here despite all the aches and pains.  And that is good.