Finish
Revised July 30, 2022
Canyon Photo 2_edited.jpg

Breaking News, as newscasters often say (as of March 19, 2022):

I have been struggling to transfer the contents to this website to my Kindle Book Number Four as a sort of farewell gesture as I go to the non-sentient side of society, where I hope to be welcomed with open arms and vacant minds - I should fit right in, based on my recent experiences.   So that might not happen and my faithful readers will have to watch television instead of reading my websites to get their daily soporific fix.

Alas, it is becoming too difficult, and so this website is likely on its last legs, barring a miracle or a significant change in attitude and outlook.   I am not counting on either one.

Late breaking news:   Liz just came in to the studio where I rant and rave online and, while I will not go into details, is being summoned to spend a week with her daughter elsewhere, for good and sufficient reasons, and Liz has arranged for people to come by periodically and check on me to see if, and I quote almost exactly:

a.   I am consuming alcohol of any sort, including likely rubbing alcohol.

b.   I am morose or disconsolate due to her absence.

c.   I am feeding our dog and cat properly and they are still alive.

d.  There are no signs of any females on the property except for the stream of local spies she will be sending to check up on me.

e.  I am watching an old Leonard Cohen performance on television which makes me morose (it actually makes me feel good and actually appreciate life more, but, go figure).

So there is my life, on full display.

Stand by for updates.

El Loco

Dementia


I thought that perhaps it was about time to tackle the subject of dementia, which seems to be gradually increasing as perceived by me.   Many will tell you that I passed that threshold long ago, and am just now the last person to find out about it and acknowledge it.  And that may be so, but it matters not, as I have more important things on my mind, once it comes circling around once again to grace me with its presence, and now is a good enough time to delve into that ticklish subject.

The deal with dementia, to resurrect a phrase I used on an earlier website, is that it is certain, terminal, and is happening.   In that regard, it is somewhat like almost everything else that is certain to happen, and how one views it and deals with it makes all the difference in the world.  Since I am not yet depressed about it, merely toying with it like a small animal which will grow larger and more insistent with time, this would be a perfect time to address it head-on, as best I can.  I will use some humor, denial, avoidance, and other tools to avoid that deep dark hole that is growing larger and deeper daily.

I have already gone through the process of realizing that "this may be the last time I will be truly aware enough to recognize what is happening and to put it in proper context, but I have been wrong before, and am open to all possibilities.

 

As I make the last turn and come down the home stretch (horse racing parlance, since after all I hail from Louisville, Kentucky, the home of the Kentucky Derby, famous for selling more Mint Juleps on Derby Day than in all the rest of the civilized world in a year), here are some more thoughts.

It is becoming more difficult weekly to put words, phrases, and thoughts together into something coherent and humorous, which has been my primary speaking and writing mode for most of my seventy eight years on this planet (no idea about the time I spent on other planets, as they do not speak English).  So this may be close to my last shot at stardom and fame, and I may not even finish, but, hey, nothing ventured, nothing gained, as they used to say in Louisville.

 

I am surprisingly tranquil, accepting, feeling pretty good, well-grounded, alert, and in better shape than I have been for most of my life in all ways.  But I cannot remember some stuff, and that particular ailment seems to be increasing.  And I am surprisingly not terrified (the old “with acceptance comes peace” trick, you know), and so it is all good.

 

I would like to cheat the Grim Reaper to the punch, as I was never fond of that genre of story anyway, do not believe much of what is written about that process, and would like to be in control as I begin to lose control, which is the ultimate absurdity.

Future

 

Just an aside, and speaking of Kentucky, making Mint Juleps produces an almost impossible product.  It takes two very good ingredients, bourbon and sugar, and ruins both of them by combining them.  You have to be from Kentucky to understand such logic.  And, contrary to rumors, I did NOT even have as much as one-tenth the officially reported amount that famous May day in 1965 (it could have been 1964 or 1963).  All I remember is that the person I was dating was well connected, and we got to sit in seats with actual backs on them (not the bleachers) and were driven there and back in her daddy's big long black Cadillac, had valet parking, and had to wear a tie (I remind you it was May in Kentucky).  I wore a straw fedora, so I looked way cool.  That’s as close to royalty as I ever got.  Her family name was Boone, but I never asked if she knew Daniel.

 

As my memory cells are more and more depleted, and the ability to recall events from my past declines, I thought that one last shot at infamy would be appropriate, so that was it.

 

It is becoming more difficult weekly to put words, phrases, and thoughts together into something coherent and humorous, which has been my primary speaking and writing mode for most of my seventy eight years on this planet (no idea about the time I spent on other planets, as they do not speak English).  So this may be close to my last shot at stardom and fame, and I may not even finish, but, hey, nothing ventured, nothing gained, as they used to say in Louisville.

 

I am surprisingly tranquil, accepting, feeling pretty good, well-grounded, alert, and in better shape than I have been for most of my life in all ways.  But I cannot remember some stuff, and that particular ailment seems to be increasing.  And I am surprisingly not terrified (the old “with acceptance comes peace” trick, you know), and so it is all good.

 

I would like to cheat the Grim Reaper, or beat him/her to the punch, or even avoid the SOB, as I was never fond of that genre of story anyway, do not believe much of what is written about that process, and would like to be in control as I begin to lose control, which is the ultimate absurdity.

"More coming; don't touch that dial!"  You have to be somewhat antiquated like me to recall that phrase; so be it!   Once I lose my sense of humor, I (and you) will know that it is time.

(A temporary hiatus, while the dog walks me; used to be the other way around.)

I thought I could come back with more witty insanity, but the well is dry, that ship has sailed, or whatever other pedantic homilies the reader may stir up to be counted and recognized.

So that ship has sailed, the well is dry, and I leave the Dear Reader alone with his/her/its thoughts (always politically correct), and thank you for the time you have put in to read this effort of mine.

Be well, and go in peace.

El Loco

Santa Fe, New Mexico

mdmccaf@gmail.com