John Jacob Alzenheimer-Smith

"John Jacob Alzenheimer-Smith...That's my name, too...
Whenever we go out, the people always shout, 
There goes John Jacob Alzenheimer-Smith....da-da-da-da-da-da-da--- **

Here follows a short rant.  Feel free to skip it.

How many of you folks a-readin' this here rant are over 60?  Can you recall?
I'll tell you what -- we are a lot more fun to be around than bein' stuck in a crowd of young knowitalls, sez I.
Why?   ...'cause we laugh!

We can be in the middle of some involved conversation and forget just what our point was -- and what do we do?  We laugh!  What do our younger compadres do?  They nudge the person next to them (assuming that person is under 60), raise one surreptitious eyebrow with a glance toward one of us,  and then they both nod, and roll their eyes.

Oh, and hey!  How about when you ask the same question after a reasonable passage of time.  Do that often enough and you get more than an exasperated "you already asked me that!"

Finally, it will come to "The Alzheimer's Talk".....  that matter-of-fact, down-to-earth, let's-face-it:  "You Have Alzheimer's" talk.  Sez I in reply:  "I don't even know a guy named Alzheimer... how can I have anything of his?  What is it that he's lost, anyway...  maybe I've seen it around."

But seriously folks... the oddest part of this "gentle" talk, is the undercurrent of anger.  I have (more than once) been informed that (herein unnamed) people are getting angry with my repeated questions.  Angry! And of course, what follows is that they become dismissive.  In their eyes, I am now irrelevant, confused, and not to be taken seriously.  I do not matter.

In my own way of seeing it, I ask a question again -- because the answer I got was boring! ...and I quit listening! I want a better one.  Besides, I often like what I am thinking about far better than paying attention to... well, you know.

Hmmm... I can't recall what else I wanted to say on this topic....

Anyway, it sure looks like there´s gonna be a beautiful sunset over the sea tonight. Clear skies.  Just might see the Green Flash again.

You know, early this morning, I was sitting alone at a table under a lovely surf-side umbrella -- after a GREAT session of body-surfing, playing in set after set of wild bouncing big waves, ducking under and diving over, in playfully wild careening abandon.  No one else was out there.  Just me and the sea..... ahhh...

As I was dripping myself to a dryer state... I was watching the crashing waves, utterly absorbed in my own thoughts.  Just then! ...a friend -- a man of my age (the kind that laughs and shares) -- STARTLED me with a simple hello!  ...but he had no problem understanding my explanation of why I jumped so.

I told him that just then, I was enjoying the flow of a particular crashing wave.  Rather than water, it looked like a vast skein of smooth, silken, silver cloth -- shimmering in the morning sun.  In particular, what had fascinated me was the apparent wholeness of the cloth... There was the smooth rise of the silvery skein, as if wafted up on the wind, then the billowing out in its fullness...  And ah, the shimmering light which it reflected at its full pregnant height and then... ooooh!  As the wind  beneath the cloth dropped, the left side gracefully fluttered down, simultaneously with the right side -- leaving the center of the long skein still aloft and billowing...

...only to be pulled down suddenly yet ever so gracefully, from both sides -- without a break in the smooth shimmering integrity of the whole.

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**The original song (which I learned at Y-Camp in Iowa back in the early '50s) is about John Jacob Jingleheimer Smith.  You see, I was originally going to title this essay "Jack Jacob Alzenheimer Schitt"  and begin the essay itself with "I know Jack Schitt!!"  but it seemed rude and totally unnecessary.... so I snuck it in here.