50+ Lifestyles

Max’s Musings

By Max Molleston

I don’t like surprises! Why? Because most surprises are not pleasant. I hope you can agree with me. That does not mean I am a planner, either. February does provide one space for a surprise that is expected, (is that a surprise?) – Valentines Day. Over the years, going on about options of appreciation, or sweetness or at least approval, I have covered what might take place. Cards, of course. Out for dinner (or supper) is mostly a pleasant time, because it shows some level of love and respect for a partner, spouse, serious friend or someone that “needs” special attention, like a grandchild.

So, if you and I don’t like surprises that much, what can we expect? More of the same? If that is so, it could be like this poem I like by the late Charles Bukowski. His was plain talk.

the last song

driving the freeway while
listening to the Country and Western boys
sing about a broken heart
and the honkytonk blues,
it seems that things just don’t work
most of the time
and when they do it will be for a
short time only.
well, that’s not news.
nothing’s news.
it’s the same old thing in
disguise.
only one thing comes without a
disguise and you only see it
once, or
maybe never.
like getting hit by a freight
train.
makes us realize that all our
moaning about long lost girls
in gingham dresses
is not so important
after
all.

Charlie’s poem comes home to me very easily. For 28 years my farm market reports were placed between sets of country western artists singing on WHBF am and WLLR-fm. Charles Bukowskis’ poetry was straight ahead, not fluff, as you might imagine. No surprises after he tells you those wails on lost love were not worth it, no matter how the artist and the backup bands performed. I almost forgot to mention some of my reports were up against Dr. Laura, and in the afternoon, one bumped omtp Rush’s conclusions, on the theater of life called radio broadcasts. Those of us now in the +50 range of ages may have experienced the biggest emotional stage of our young lives listening intently to the daily radio serials that seemed to project heros and good deeds. The Green Hornet…with his oriental sidekick, or at least I thought he was oriental. Jack Armstrong, the All-American Boy… and billy (was it) plus three or four more. some were a wish book toward the kind of character we, as children, might like to be. The Lone Ranger or Tonto. Those radio-plays always wanted to end with good results.

At my age, mid-70s, I like good results from tests that physicians have ordered for me. So far, that has been the case, and my new right hip, something I ordered for myself, is also a good result and has been a path of progress. I choose to take my walks in the big box grocery store rather than the big box shopping mall. I worked for good results, just like my surgeon wanted, and drew out for me. I promise to show more improvement next month right here.