Duncan's Blog

That could be said about your age or your weight. Come to think about it, it could also be said about the length of your hair, your height, the number of times you've churned butter while standing, or the count of teeth in your mouth that are really yours.
By 'really yours,' I refer to endogenous dentition that have erupted rather than the replacement parts that have been paid for by cash, card, or insurance.
I don't always engage in activities or behaviors that seem age appropriate. For example, at 63 I have hippie hair. The hair is naturally wavy and the waves are not in synch with one another. So when the hair is brushed or combed, there is always a certain amount of tension against the teeth of the grooming device. The only time the hair flows like silk is when I have just emerged from my morning ablutions and the hair has been treated with some 99¢ Only Store hair conditioner. Then I look in the mirror and say, "Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!"
I'm also quite aware that I have a diagnosis of pre-diabetic. Not sure how long that has been around or how long the HgbA1C values have been used as DM metrics, but they are in place and they are not to be ignored. The question that one bids is, "What's a boy to do?"
Why, the answer is simple : "DIET and EXERCISE!"
At 63--with a predisposition against and abhorrence of breaking into a sweat--the notion of exercise is not even a theoretical possibility. So I ambulate. It has some effect... it just doesn't move mountains.
This is a fascinating subject (to me) and I am certain I will revisit it

We had a variety of animals growing up. I lived in apartments for most of my life. As a child we had parakeets, a canary, goldfish, hamsters, and a guinea pig. My father also once brought home a cockatiel. Although I had severe allergies, my mother kept a cat for about two years. I didn't get a dog until I was 57. He was adopted... more accurately willed to me when my tenant passed away. The animal, a pit bull, slept with his owner. I never broke him of the habit.
There are times when I think of a pet that would be just nice to have around... a mynah that could talk, a lactating goat, a donkey, Sadly, the reality of caring for them is always present. If you go on vacation, you have to ask someone to care for them for you. Or you need to take them with you. Goats don't travel well.
These days--in addition to the dog--I also have a black longhair cat that was born on my front porch. The housemate who adopted the dog took the kitten from its mother, claiming that she was the runt and would have been starved.
She has thrived.
I don't think too much about the pet that I never had. I fear it might outlive me. And who wants an old mynah?

At a time in my not so distant past, I had looked at Wicca life choices. I enjoyed the fellowship/community and most of the rituals that were performed. Unlike the masses, however, I am NOT an outdoors person. I feel most comfortable alone or with one other person. I question a religion that prescribes the number of persons who have to be in a group in order for a rite or ritual to happen or to be valid.
Can you imagine a religion that explains if you want to say a mourner's prayer for your deceased parent, you must join an all-male prayer group of at least 10 others? No thanks.
After the lifting of COVID restrictions, many groups are returning to the live action. One such group I attend has a meetup in a park. The person who sent out invitations is getting mighty pushy and wants to know why I haven't RSVPed ... considering the event is on waitlist status. Hey, Lady, if you've got so many people as to already have formed a waitlist, why the heck are you nagging me?
Truth is, I'm not feeling the connection right now. Maybe I'm looking for something else. Maybe I'm thinking of returning to a past practice. Maybe I'm planning on having nothing in my life for awhile. Or... maybe... I just don't feel like sharing with you. (She's a bit of a blabber-mouth).
So I remain mute. And I get text messages that never end. She's needy. She's whiney. She's gosh-darn annoying. Even after I say, "It's not you. It's me," she still doesn't get the hint. How much clearer need one be? Does a piano need to fall on her?
Well, that's that on that for now. My spiritual void will be a lifelong ponderance.

Had dinner with an ancient friend of mine (I think we met in 1985). Our friendship was not continuous because there was a time when he came into a large inheritance and his then-husband--a Franciscan priest--was jealous of his having any friendships outside their primary relationship. The priest was also a big boozer and my ancient friend had the same addiction/affliction. We lost touch. But, when their relationship ended and the priest sero-converted to HIV+ and my friend had realized that his inheritance had been frittered away (or stolen), he moved back to the city and made a fearless inventory and righted all wrongs by making amends. Guess I was on the list.
Anyway, over dinner the other night he had derided to try his hand at humor. "Do you know what the weather report was for December 7th, 1941, he had asked?" "No," I replied, "what?" "Balmy! With a little Nip in the air."
I'm not a big fan of racial humor. Even less of a fan when the race is mentioned by a disparaging term. I told him it wasn't too P.C. and I think he got the hint.
Did he?
A late friend of mine (whom the ancient friend also knew as we became acquainted around the same time) was a Jewish woman who had been married to an Italian Jew. Most people assumed since she had an Italian last name that she was Italian and that they could tell her some Jewish jokes. She had worse tales than I. She was also of the same mind that she didn't want to hear nasty racial jokes. As she was often wont to point out, "If someone can say, 'N*gg*r,' you know that 'kike' isn't going to be too far behind." I try not to test the waters.
Tonight I am meeting up with a friend who has the same first name as I. Ours is an unusual name. I found him on FACEBOOK while doing a name search. I told him I was looking for a friend with the same first name as mine. He agreed to friend me. Freaky thing about that though is that we do have a lot of interests in common. In addition, we take an interest in what the other does and we are generally supportive of the passions that we enjoy. Funny how that sometimes happens.

The entry title is a short for of "Coffee, Tea, or Milk?" Back in the day when stewardesses served beverages on flights, those were the three options. These days I drink coffee to start the day and I fill a THERMOS of hot black tea to get me through the day. So I down about 8 cups of caffeine a day. It keeps me awake (for the most part) and it fulfills the nutritional requirement of staying hydrated with clear liquids. Although, some would argue that caffeinated drinks are not part of that equation.
Sometimes I wonder about the other options. Not long ago, I sadly learned that Israel doesn't drink hot black tea as the Arabs do. Except for coffee, their tea choice seems to be infused herbals. And some of their choices are downright nasty. Sage? Lemon verbena? Rooibus? This isn't even tea? Why not just pour boiling water over Kümmel and dill and let it sit for 5 minutes and call it tea? Gross! GROTESK!
No! I like my tea black and free of lemon, cream, sugar, honey, or the like. Now I DO, however, like flavors. Which means the tea could be a malt or have flowers, fruit, or some smoke in it. In fact, the only time I do drink tea with sugar and cream is when I am having Indian food and ask for chai.
Chai! Stories on that for sure. The ginger has to be fresh and freshly grated. And the chai must be hot. And the drinker should have to add the sugar. Chai from a THERMOS that's been sitting for hours is not an attractive offering.
And for coffee. That I do add a little non-fat milk to. I like it hot (except in the summer when I will drink ice coffee). Ice coffee is also a treat at Thai restaurants (which I seldom frequent).
Well, that's my reveal for the day. I've packed my lunch for the day which (besides a THERMOS of hot black tea) includes 1/2 cup of home made tabouli, 1/4 cup white rice, 50g of Buckeye beans, and 2 cups of a homemade blend of turkey stock and bean stock broth. Yes, it's diet time. I'm pretty sure there is some diced, cool cucumber that's been added in for a vegetable on the side. I may be dieting, but I think I eat a very well-balanced and healthy meal.