This is the final post in the 30 day challenge.  I plan on emptying my drafts until December 1 when I will bring on guest writers to give views on issues we avoid or are afraid to tackle.  The writers demand anonymity.  They are locals.

Today’s writing prompt reminds me of my oldest sister’s caution.  “Define your terms,” she always says.   Excited has a variety of inferences.  It means a state of arousal.  Well, I could be aroused by a lion chasing me but I doubt that is the meaning in this case.  I am going to use the meaning aroused in a “looking forward to.”

The the dangling preposition for suggests that maybe I should be excited for someone else.  I will interchange the word about to help clarify.  Language is funny that way.  You can get away with things by befuddling the meaning.

I remember my mother saying to me that as you age things aren’t as exciting.  Birthdays, parties, weddings, births, deaths and elections become less exciting.  She said this right after she told me, “Don’t get old.”

Well I got old.  I understand my mother fully–always did.  I thought all day about this excitement issue.  I have so much to do.  Things I want to do but they do not reach the level of excitement.

The last time I got excited was earlier this week reading a book by James Rollins.  I was standing, reading and stomping my feet wondering how are they going to get out of this mess.  So I get excited with certain books.  I was reading Ann Tyler and got interested in the love thing but she left me high and dry.

I get excited listening to must win baseball games.  I think it is because it tickles my imagination.  Studies show that your imagination is tied to your memory.  I listen to the radio broadcasts because two of the announcers describe exactly what it feels like to be in that batter’s box.

I am an avid hockey fan.  I can sit and watch a hockey game and never move.  I do jump, I swear, I scream and I guess I get excited.  Unless you strapped on skates you can’t appreciate the inner feeling of the game.  It’s like soccer but fast and dangerous.

I look forward to events and conversation but with a obligatory interest.  So if I had to pick something that excites me, it is a good book.  It truly grabs your imagination.  Unfortunately the book market sells books they have on hand and so you read what they give.  There are some really good writers who you have to search for, usually as a self publish.

One thing I notice is that many people in my locale do not read.  The young people who read today will own the world tomorrow.  There is so much good reading in all kinds of genres..

I think being excited and invested in something becomes crucial to older health.  There are a few people who I enjoy conversing with.  A few things I noticed about these choices for interesting people is they have logic.  They have the ability to look past the media and the “my way makes sense” FaceBook crowd.  I do read the FaceBook stuff because some people are funny and they pick good topics.  I often see a comment from a person reading in the background and it is usually on point.  So people are there but do not converse regularly. I could write volumes on FaceBook comments.  But that doesn’t excite  me.

I remember my dad in his old age listening to the University of Miami baseball games.  I get excited about the “U”, my alma mater.  Whenever I go to the States I go to the alumni baseball game.  Currently I am the third oldest returnee.  That is creepy.  When you’re the oldest you get a standing ovation.  I’m trying to get excited about that but it’s not working.

 

I wouldn’t have remembered it except for my oldest sister.  I remember going from my future in-laws house to my house for parties at both locations. Our wedding was set for August 28th , the next month.  My future wife, Helene, would die 21 years later.

The reason I remember the night of my 21st birthday was because my sister told my mother the truth.  When I was 5 years old my parents went to a wedding banquet at night.  They entrusted my then 15 year old sister with my care.  Make no mistake, I was not only my parent’s favorite, but the only boy and baby in the extended family added to my specialty in the family.  I was a character and my sisters hated me.  Natalie, my oldest sister pleaded with my mom to let her go out.  Instead she had to watch me.

After my parents left, Natalie said, “You want to play cowboys and Indians?”

“Sure.” I said finally realizing my sister was catching on to the important things in my life.

“Okay, I am the Indian and I am going to tie you up first,” she proceeded to hog tie just like in the movies.  She threw me on the bed and went out on a date.

I was gagged with my feet tied to my wrists behind my back.  My sister was way better at tying knots than the Indians in the movies.  There was no fire to burn free and no sharp objects to cut loose.  I couldn’t even get to the TV.

She cut me free about midnight.  I waited for my parents until 2 a.m.  I told my mother what happened.  In the morning Natalie laughed at my “imagination.”  She convinced my mother I was a liar.  In fact in years to come she’d say, “he’s lying like the time he said I tied him up.”  Not only did I become a liar but she cheated at a monopoly game and accused me of cheating.  Now I was a liar and a cheat.   She kept telling everybody this and they believed it.  She’s a liberal now . She knew that repeating a lie makes it true.

Well on my 21st birthday she told my mom that she did in fact tie me up.  She would not exonerate me on the cheating issue.  My mother laughed.  I waited for some justifiable expletives from my mother but nothing came.  She simply said, “Well, he got branded.”   My mother was conservative.

As a result of this I became a person in the middle watching people defend their positions.  And now I write about it.  I try not to judge but simply apply logic.

So the night of my 21st birthday the truth came out and nothing changed.  GO FIGURE!

 

 

 

 

 

I realize my words and phrases have changed as I aged.  I joineds a softball team in my 30s.  It was a really good team.  Went to the nationals.  There was a wide range of ages on the team.  The young guys talked about drugs, the next group talked about women, the next age group talked about business/money/stocks.  The oldest group talked about food. I will NEVER talk about food.  I think that discussion is a precursor to dementia.

Since I am single I talk to my dog — a lot.  But when I first came to Cuenca my friends pointed out that I said, “I’m so sore.”  Well, I was.  I stopped saying that but find myself saying “I was walking down the street.”  My friends say, “Like a pretty woman?”  I stopped that.

I repeat phrases because they tend to be funny.  A lot has to do with the timing , the surprise, the situation and the tone.  If I say “What the fuck?”  I say it to make you laugh by inflection.  When you tell me something that is meant to surprise me I like saying, “Get outta town!”  The various responses I get tell me how far I can press my humor.

My sisters say I can say things that are forbidden and politically incorrect because I built that into my personality.  The purpose of the interchange is  to  find what makes you laugh and focus on the conversation to bring those words about.

There are some people who have no sense of humor, who can’t banter and who converse on a different level.  I will move to that level and work at getting them to lighten up or laugh.  Quite often these people have political agendas.

I use to try political humor but it only worked if you made fun of the people they opposed.  Americans and British have a unique ability to laugh at themselves.  Ecuadorians laugh at you but not themselves.  That’s okay because I have had much practice with liberals.

A lot of humor is based on stereotypes and bigotry.  So being politically correct takes away that segment of humor.  There is a comedian Anthony Jezelnek, who is dark humor.  You go to turn it off but you turn it louder.  It is like watching a train wreck in slow motion.  In his comedy he has a backdrop of how foolish we are in our political correctness.  His humor works an edge that is very sharp and intelligent.  His ability to handle the audience is psychologically mystifying.

I met a fellow here in Cuenca who jokes like I do.  He can’t stop. But he is so genuine that you accept him as that way.  His talk gets my brain tired.  It was like looking in a 3D mirror.  So I had to learn when to back down, when to ease up.  I know that my sense of humor is stoing and overwhelming.  I wake up with that attitude but I am funnier when I am tired because I take on this dry sense of humor.

When you repeat a phrase and others notice it is the basis to understand them/  I think I’ll go annoy mu neighbors now.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Timing is everything.  At the beginning of these writing prompts I would have skipped this prompt.  I am still in my athletic University of Miami shorts.

I have a steep incline at the opening to my complex.  So I stay in my shorts until I try to ride my bike up the incline.  I am a meter short of the top and my legs hurt from trying, but I will get there.

Since I am in the NaNoWriMo write a book month I have cut back on my treks around town.  I literally roam the streets, meet people, try new things, make friends and generally enjoy retirement.  I adjusted my reduction in physical activity by cutting back on my meals.  Apparently the meals I left behind are high caloric.  Well does does this have to do with what I wear, you ask.

I went to a friend’s birthday party yesterday.  I put on nice white slacks, argyle socks, new sneakers and a long sleeved shirt with cuff links and a tie.  I even ironed the shirt.

The neck buttons would close only if I didn’t care to breathe.  My belt is notching in the correct direction but I have the beginning of Dunlap’s Disease (that’s where you belly dun lap over your belt).

The point being my clothes awareness has made me realize that I need to pay attention to my food intake.  So the prompt did work.  Chicken soup for the writer.  In fact, no more chicken soup.

I will eat only when I’m hungry.  I eat out only at events like a writing group or a reader’s group.

I have to go challenge the hill now.

I was married for 14 years to a woman who divorced me.  I have not one fond memory, I have no dreams about those times.

We did not speak in the end and I believe that family tradition should continue.  Her presence at a family function would increase my absence.  I think this feeling is the reality that I would be looking in a mirror that reflected failure.

Not a failed marriage, as our inability to communicate released us to speak again. Rather a failure, on my part, to understand with my usual assuredness what went wrong.  I see glimpses of it but when I go to investigate I only see evil staring at me.

I remember how she verbally abused my adopted children and my failed interventions.  I cried back then. I seek to forget now.

I plan to address this issue along with others in the near future.  I plan on taking the opposite view of everything I believe in.  I will embrace religion, God, liberal thought, working so others can have what I make, the evils of males especially the white ones, the VIEW, Rachel Madow, the Clintons.  I will acknowledge the evils of power and money.  I will journal my introspection in a most honest way.

In that journey I will address what I would say to my ex.  I do not or better will not have a religious experience of forgiveness because God was part of the failed marriage. But I do expect to come to grips with issues heretofore outside of my comfort zone.

I intend on addressing my sarcasm, my arrogance and my politically incorrect sense of humor.  I may find them without fault, possibly an advanced defense mechanism or a basic id thing.

As for now the word is mum.