Life Is a Classroom

Life is a classroom from which we never escape until we actually leave the world, and although we tend to associate the classroom with work and struggle and frustration and disappointment, it’s also got periods called recess and vacation, and I guess that one of the secrets of life is learning to enjoy both on their own terms.

As I get older the classroom is beginning to seem more and more like a playroom, the way it did when we went to pre-school and kindergarten and finger painted and played with blocks and when the lessons were not yet terribly difficult.

As I go back to that realm, I’m enjoying recess immensely, but I’m also learning how to make the classroom time more and more fun and less and less work, and I think that’s one of the gifts that we’re given by life as we come towards the end of the journey.

Things Are Not as They Appear

The older you get, the more you realize that you have to do what Alice did when she went through the looking glass. You have to turn everything backwards and upside down in order for it to make sense, because everything in this world IS backwards and upside down. You don't realize this until you get older that the way things REALLY operate are almost the opposite, the exact opposite, of what you perceive. Well, the most obvious example would be, they tell me that the sun doesn't really go around the earth after all, but I could have sworn that it did.

Another example would be, what is “real” and what is “reality.” For me, reality has to mean something that lasts, that's permanent, that transcends time and eternity. And in time, where we're all trapped, everything is transitory. From my perspective, it's all a dream or a movie, but it's not real in the sense that we think of as being real. Another quick example is that even though things appear to be solid, science tells us that everything is actually empty space. Science cannot explain why things appear to be solid, since everything, from their perspective, is obviously just different lengths of electromagnetic waves, and solid is actually empty space and they can't explain it any more than they can explain gravity, but of course that doesn't stop them from trying.

Pet Peeve – A Carpet Cleaning Company

Yesterday, prior to an epic nosebleed [See “An Early Morning Crisis” below], I had scheduled a carpet cleaning company to come and I decided, after the blood stopped flowing, that I was really too tired to deal with carpet cleaners, so I called them and cancelled the appointment, and they said fine. And they said that they would call me today and let me know what time Friday they would come, whether morning or afternoon, instead.

Well, they didn't call, so I finally called them, and I got that delightful little recording that says, "We're sorry, but the number you have dialed is no longer in service. If you think you have reached this recording in error, please check the area code and number and dial again."

So I checked the number, even though I had dialed it several times in the last two or three days, and I dialed it again, and I got the same recording, and I dialed again and I got the same recording. So I was really flummoxed by now, because I had talked to them at this same number the day before and I couldn't understand why now, suddenly, this number was no longer in service.

Now in the old days you would have just dialed the operator and she would have taken care of it. So, because I was raised in another world and another time, I dialed the operator, and she informed me that she had no capacity whatsoever to check on an 800 number. So I said, "What do I do?"

She said, "Well, have you checked information to see if it's still the same number?"

And in fact, I had done that, so I said to the woman, "I've already called information."

"Well, if it's a 1-800 number, you need to call this 800 number."

And so I called that 800 number and a RECORDING came on and said "Please enter the 10-digit number that you are trying to reach."

And so I carefully dialed in the 10-digit number I was trying to reach, and then a woman's voice said, on a recording, "The number you punched in is eight . . . . zero . . . zero . . . three . . . two . . . five . . . six . . . four . . ."

By this time I was ready to tear my hair.

"If this is the correct number, press one. If it is not the correct number, press two."

I pressed one. And another recording came on and said, "That is a GTE number. In order to check on its validity, please dial 1-800-959 blah blah blah blah."

By this time, I was having apoplexy. But I had gone this far, and I really want my carpets cleaned, so I thought maybe this will be the last number I have to dial.

And so I called the number, and a recording came on and said, "We're sorry. The number that you're trying to dial is no longer in service. If you have reached this recording in error please . . . blah . . . blah . . . blah.

An Early Morning Crisis

I got up yesterday morning about 6:15 to go to the bathroom, and while I was there began blowing my nose. Almost immediately, my nose began to bleed profusely. I have never bled like that in my life, out of my nose or any other orifice, or when I've cut myself carving food. This blood just came in great quantities, and it just wouldn't stop, no matter what I did.

I couldn't plug it up, and the blood was coming so quickly from my nose that it would overflow and I found that I was swallowing mouthfuls of blood. I would release the pressure and the blood would come gushing out of my nose, and I was thinking, "Hummm. Maybe this is the morning I'm going to leave. I may bleed to death of a nosebleed right here in my bathroom."

There I am, with blood going all over everything, and there I am desperately trying to wipe this up, because the Virgo in me is saying, "Even if you die this morning you really don't want people to walk in and see a room filled with spattered blood." And so I also pulled on my swimsuit so that the poor dears wouldn't have to look at my gross, naked, aging body.

But as the bleeding just wouldn't stop I was beginning to come to the conclusion that anyone else would have called 911. But I had clearly decided that I was just going to lie down and bleed to death quietly and beautifully in my shower stall. And so as best I could, with one hand always having to be up to my nose to stanch the flow, I wrote a little note to my brother Jim:

"Hey, Jim, 6:45, and I think that I'm bleeding to death of a nosebleed, and I just wanted to let you know that everything's OK. I'm really looking forward to leaving. And gee, you have been the most wonderful and terrific brother I could have had. Love, John." With a little PS, "To whoever finds my body, my brother's cell phone number is . . . blah blah blah blah."

Now through all of this I was very amused that I was spending so much time, as usual, on details trying to anticipate the feelings of others, who would find me there devoid of blood like a vampire had been sucking on my neck all night. So I got everything in order and things were clean and I turned the water on and laid my head on a towel so I would be comfortable while I was gradually going to sleep. And of course what happened is that the blood gradually stopped flowing and I realized I wasn't going to get to leave, so I got up and tidied things up and went on with my day. Ageing in the desert: When you're trying to leave, you seize every apparent opportunity that comes along, even if it's choking on a steak or dying of a nosebleed in your bathroom.

Peeves That Become Pets as I Get Older

I have gotten really weary of doing servers' jobs for them when I visit restaurants. For example, tonight I asked for a chopped steak but got a regular steak. Now that was fine. The steak was 2$ more. And they didn't charge me the extra 2$. But I ordered the chopped steak not only because it was cheaper, but because it's easier for an old person to swallow without choking to death. And of course the whole time I was eating my steak I was hoping that this might be the night that I could leave the world by reason of choking on my dinner, but of course it didn't happen. Anyway, I got a steak and only paid for chopped sirloin, but the point is that over and over and over again, I'm finding that when my food is brought I have to send it back for some reason. When I say, "Please, no ranch sauce on my cheeseburger, just mayonnaise," it comes soaked in ranch sauce that makes me gag. I get really angry that I have to send the darn thing back. Why didn't the server check to see if what she wrote on the slip is actually what they gave her?