How old do you want to live to be?

How old do you want to live to be?


Most people would say a hundred, thinking that's about how long any of us lives and still has any brain cells working. But what do we look like at that age? Have you ever seen someone who was a hundred? Or even a picture? They don't look good. They're starting to fall in on themselves. Whatever they looked like when they were young is long gone. Only their best friends would recognize a young face amid all that ruin, and those friends are all pretty much dead.


Most hundred-year-olds are gracious when they're interviewed and get applause for living that long, but most seem embarrassed at all the fuss, because they're thinking of themselves as the beautiful young men and women they used to be, ripe and ready for whatever life was about to throw their way. They're generally polite, God bless 'em, but they know their best times are behind them and that the best they can do is hope for something miraculous.

So how about ninety? Woud you like to die at ninety? Have you ever seen anyone who was ninety? They look pretty much like the hundred-year-olds but maybe not quite so bad off. They may not need the wheelchair -- maybe just the walker -- but they're creeping around. Their brains may still be functioning at a high level -- maybe -- but their bodies are starting to show the wear and tear of existence. Their reflexes are off, their muscle density down. They've come down from a Pontiac LeMans to an older Ford. If they've really kept themselves up, they can still walk, but not very fast. Time is bearing down on them, and they know it. They're also not pretty anymore. Even the best-looking girls have lost that skin tone that brought them such attention all those years ago!

A ninety-year-old prom queen is not something anyone wants to see. To be fair, you also don't want to see the ninety-year-old prom king. Trust me: you don't.

On the other hand, to give them credit, they're probably the wisest subset of census data in any given year (or century). If you have your wits about you, don't go out at ninety.

Is eighty better as a time to go out? Well, maybe it depends on your criteria for ending it all.

Make a list:


1) I can't stand living anymore.

2) I'm so in debt that I'll never get out of it.


3) My wife/husband hates me/left me.


4) I'm addicted to something that might kill me.

5) I'm losing bodily functions.

6) I'm physically impaired and/or in constant physical pain

7) I'm a worthless person.

Such a list could go on forever: all the reasons we don't want to keep living. So what if you reach the age of eighty and are agreeing with most of these statements? Are you ready to give it up?

Not necessarily. You're probably still walking around, admittedly a little slower, but you don't want to miss all those birthdays for your grandchildren and watching them bud into real people, right? As for yourself, you don't look as good as you used to but aren't totally unrecognizable. Some eighty-year-olds look pretty good. And there are still books to be read and fish to be caught and holes to be made (golf we're talking) and maybe even something new, somthing you hadn't done before but wanted to and now have time for. No, eighty is too soon to die.

That means, of course, that seventy isn't, either. At seventy, you're still pretty strong and agile. Granted seventy used to be considered old, but not any more. I defy you to look at a line-up of guys 55 to 75 and pick out the 70 year old (assuming the old guy is in good shape). Medicines and diet guidelines and exercise routines, including yoga, have extended the average lifespan. A guy or gal in his or her seventies can still do pretty much what he or she did at sixty. Or fifty. Just get the right prescriptions. Oh, and take care of yourself.

Stick around, okay? Life is still good.

And if you don't want to die in your seventies, you certainly don't want to in your sixites, when you feel -- if you've taken care of your body -- not much different from how you felt at forty, assuming you also felt good then, as most of us do.

There really is no best time to die. It depends on the kind of life we've lived, the condition we've kept ourselves in, the quality of our family life. And more. Our interests in different subjects, our tolerance and/or zeal for travel. Our own internal, totally personal, make-up.

Whether you want to live to be a hundred or thirty depends on who you are as a person, and no one can make that decision for you.

My advice is to live as long as you can, but only if you're enjoying life and looking forward to the next day. If you ever reach a point that you're not doing either, then it's time to find a therapist and/or start planning how to exit this life gracefully. If you decide to do the latter, make sure that you've cleared it with those left behind: you don't want a loved one to find you hanging from a rope in closet (not good). Plan your exit gracefully and with care.

But that doesn't mean that anyone should ever consider ending his or her own life. There is always the option of just dying of natural causes, which, unfortunately, often means wasting away to the point that you don't want any of your loved ones looking at you -- and they don't want to look at you either. (I always remember hearing that Sammy Davis Jr., that superb singer, weighed something like seventy pounds when he died of lung cancer. No thanks.)

Tough options, no?

I guess the best thing to hope for is to live to a ripe old age and then die in your sleep. My mother did that, but she put up with a few years preceding when she was restricted to a sofa and a walker and hated her confinement. She was almost 99 when she died, either getting into bed or out.

Whatever age we do die, we hope we've lived a good life and have people who will mourn us when we're gone. But what is that "ideal" age?

I knew boys in Viet Nam who died, violently, before they were twenty. My best friend from high school died at 25 in a traffic accident. The poet Keats died at the same age, of TB. His friend Shelly, the poet, drowned at 30. A neighbor of mine, a wonderful woman, died just last year of cancer at 49. Another woman, who I didn't know, died at 105 in a nursing home.

There is no set age at which it's "the right time" to die. And even thinking about it --if you rule out suicide (as I hope you have) -- is just hypothetical.

But aren't hypothetical questions the most interesting?

What/who might you have been if you'd taken a different path somewhere in your life? Not married this person but that other one? Not chosen this career but another one? Had children or not? Etc.

Thinking about the "right" time to die is just an exercise in thinking, nothing more or less. We'll all probably die when the time comes, and we may be old and decrepit or in the prime of life -- or somewhere in between.

Just another of those things to think about, or not, as we see fit.

Live long and prosper, as they say. Or die and be a lovely corpse. Embrace the mystery!

Get back in touch with what you used to like to do.

I was in the garage of a friend recently and noticed that, hung up along with his wrenches and pliers and other tools was a banjo. It was between a crowbar and a saw. I asked him about it.

Turns out he had learned to play the banjo as a teenager, had actually gotten pretty good at it, but had given it up in college, where guitars ruled and got all the girls.

Turns out, too, that he was going through some troubles in his marriage. I suggested to him that he think up some stupid breaking-up song that could be played on a banjo. That sparked his brain into another gear. Could he really come up with a song backed by banjo and plunk it out on his instrument? I said I'd listen to it, provided he supplied me with all the beer I could drink.


Maybe he'll never get around to writing that banjo song, but at least, for a while, his brain shifted gears. He started thinking anew. About his past and his future, too. I think that has to be good for the mature brain.


Sometimes the key to an optimistic outlook on the future is a new look at the past. Think back to when you did something well. You don't have to do that thing again -- skipping rope or throwing a football or collecting coins or whatever -- but try to remember what it felt like.

Can you be that person again? Maybe not, but you might be able to capture some of the magic that let you think you could be good at something. You may not take up that activity again, but you may, with a little effort and imagination, remember what it was like.

I knew a boy who was a good baseball player. Much better than most of the rest of us. But problems at home kept him from pursuing his dream. He just felt kind of beaten down, not worthy of the talent that had been bestowed on him. So what is he supposed to do now, later in life, when things aren't going so well? When his job and marriage are in peril? How can he tap that old confidence that comes with doing something well?

The answer lies inside him, as it lies inside all of us. Weren't you once someone with a future? Weren't you once the best at what you did? How did that feel? Maybe you weren't the best but were pretty good. Better than others. You can channel it into something that will help others. My baseball friend would have been a great coach to young ballplayers just realizing their talents. Did he do it? Not sure. But he should have, I think. He could have taught his skills to kids who needed his guidance. And, in the meantime, he could have gotten back in touch with what he did best and enjoyed it all over again.

I remember girls and boys from all parts of my life who could sing. I couldn't. They entertained us, even impressed us. Wow! They could sing! What did they do with that talent? Most, most likely, did nothing. They kept singing around the piano at Christmas or on special occasions but didn't go so far as to cut a CD, even just for their friends' enjoyment, much less try to become known and respected, even successful.

If you're okay with your choices -- either the ballplayer or the gifted singer -- then I say okay. Enjoy the adulation of your friends and family. But if you're having problems in your life, I say go back and look at yourself when you did something special. Get back in touch with that time and that self and use it now to make yourself feel special again.

I'm obviously a writer who -- while waiting/hoping for something I wrote to be published or produced -- decided to get back to my roots and just write this blog. I have no idea if anyone reads any of it, but I'm doing what I think I was best at all along. Writing.

If I can do it -- with no expectation of any reward or recognition-- so can you.

What are you waiting for?

Exercise won't make you live longer or lose weight. Sorry about that.

Maybe it will -- stands to reason -- but I've read conflicting studies. We all know lots of old fat people. And rail-skinny people who exercised incessantly and still died way too young.

But that's not why you should exercise in the first place. You exercise not to live longer or to lose weight but to enjoy to the fullest your life as you're living it, at least physically.

When I work out, I often strap ten-pound weights to each ankle, to make pull-ups and other exercises a little harder. Actually, it makes everything a LOT harder. And it occurred to me recently that if I had to walk around all day with those weights around my ankles, I'd be damned tired by suppertime. And that was only twenty extra pounds. You know people who are more than twenty pounds overweight, right? Think how hard it must be for them just to get around!

Vigorous exercise of any kind -- walking fast, running, swimming, rock-climbing -- will tone and strenghten your muscles and reinforce the supply of blood to your heart and lungs and brain. But, alas, it won't make you lose weight. That depends -- you know -- on how much you eat. And what you eat.

So yeah, you already knew that you shouldn't eat anything you want, in any proportions, but you were hoping there was another way to good health and the perfect figure. Unfortunately, there's not. Ya gotta eat less. Sorry.

Along those lines, to digress, I've found that the best way to cut down on over-eating is not to eat at scheduled times, when you're more likely to load up your plate with what looks to you like a real meal: meat, potatoes, a salad, bread, maybe dessert. Forget the traditional meal.

Eat like an animal. (I have a previously blog on this topic.) Graze. Open the fridge and see if anything looks worth a few spoonfuls. You'll eat a lot less this way, I guarantee.

So we're agreed that exercise probably won't make you live longer and that it also won't make you lose weight unless you also cut down on the calories you consume. Right?

Back to the main idea: you exercise because it makes you feel better.

Remember the ankle weights? Suppose you had them on and also a weighted vest, which is another piece of workout apparel. And maybe something extra heavy hanging around your neck. And it's time to go to the mall!

It's hard even to get into the car. Your over-burdened joints hurt, and you're having a harder and harder time fitting under the steering wheel. I mean, there's only so far back you can push the driver's seat. You're huffing and puffing by the time you turn the key in the ignition. And now here comes all that walking. Oh Lord.

This is an extreme example of the results of lack of exercise. And a poor diet. Everything above could have been prevented with a little (or a lot) more movement and many fewer sit-down meals. Keep moving and eat like an animal.

Seen any fat cheetahs lately? Monkeys? Squirrels? Birds? Wasps?

There are, to be sure, fat animals in nature -- walruses, whales, hippos, etc. -- and certainly lots of domesticated ones -- cows most notably -- but I'm thinking that the fat must serve a real purpose for those animals that I don't know about (except for the cow, who we raise to be fat).

But most animals are not fat, and most of us humans don't need to be, either. Even those of us who don't exercise know that we have to limit how much and what we eat if we're going to fit into that favorite pair of jeans. And even if you can still wear that same size, what you're stuffing into those jeans is likely to be a lot wobblier than what slid into them twenty years earlier.

Unless you exercise. It's the only way to subtract twenty years from your body image. First, if you must, do the diet thing. Lose the weight. Then firm up what's left with exercise. But it's easier -- and quicker -- if you do them at the same time. As you lose pounds, you get more buff at the same time, not later.

And you won't just look better -- you'll feel better. You'll feel like you've taken off those ankle weights and are walking on air. Going up stairs won't be a problem. The occasional sprint across the street to keep from getting whacked by a car -- piece of cake. You'll be a new and improved physical machine. Your body will be ready for emergencies but also just easier to be in during the day. In short, if you stay in good physical condition, you'll forget all about your body.

You won't be thinking about those stairs or about that ache in your knees. You'll take your body for granted. Just as you take your car for granted. Your body the machine will be in such good working order that you won't even be aware of it. After all, it's your vehicle, and you need to keep it in good running order. (Earlier blog about this, too).

So my advice -- and I'm an exerciser but not an athlete -- is to get physical, however best suits your taste and time and tolerance, not to lose weight or live longer but to enjoy so much more the life you're living right now.

A fit you will be a happier you. Money-back guarantee.

When you don't have to be thinking about your body, you can think about so many other things!

In, Out, Too Hard: How We Deal with Information.

I once saw a New Yorker cartoon that had a guy sitting at a desk with three file trays. One was labeled "In," another was labeled "Out," and a third, containing by far the biggest stack of papers, was labeled "Too Hard."


I always thought of that as an apt analogy for what we do with the information we get. It piles up so fast in our modern-day "In" box, a deluge of messages: emails and phone calls and even snail mail letters addressed to us. So much information coming at us, every day.


Enough!


But of course we know it's not enough. Just because we can't figure out how to deal with it, the info keeps coming. There are also text messages and Instant Messaging (if we've signed on to all that), not to mention memos from a boss.

We all have way too much information to process all the time. Not to mention verbal feedback from our kids, spouses, co-workers, etc. People aren't just constantly messaging us but also talking to us, on the phone and even in person, as often as they can. We're swamped with communications all day long!

The key, of course, is to prioritze. But how?

Imagine that box system: In, Out, Too Hard.

When you hear from someone -- via whatever medium -- decide, right away, if it's something you need to respond to immediately or if it can wait. If it's something from your boss, with a deadline attached, put it in the In box and deal with it right away. If it's from a customer asking for more information about something, put it in the In box but underneath the boss's request. If it's from the teacher of your child, asking for a meeting, put it above the customer but just below the boss. Deal with them in that order.

Your Inbox should only have things you need to do soon, if not right away, organized by place in the pile: most important/urgent on top but all demanding attention.

If an email or message is something you can deal with right away, without having to file it, then by all means do -- via email or a phone call or even a personal visit. You're done with it. If that person isn't happy with what you've said, it will come back to your In file later, and you can deal with it anew. In the meantime, put it in your Out file, with a date noting when you dealt with it.

If it's something you can't make right or can't figure out -- and you're getting no guidance from a boss or a spouse or a friend -- put it in the Too Hard file. You know you have to deal with it sooner or later, but there may be a day down the line when you aren't so busy or so frazzled and can tackle it with a clearer mind. Don't forget it -- never forget anything you need to do -- but put it off to another day. For now.

Try to keep a balance among your boxes: as many in the In as the Out, not so many in the Too Hard. And don't hesitate to ask for help about the Too Hards. Someone you know may have a suggestion you never thought of but should have. We're all in this together.

I remember a time when if you were in your car, no one could contact you. Also if you were at the lake cabin, where there wasn't a phone. Granted the information might pile up so you had to deal with it when you came back to the office, but at least for a while it didn't exist.

Goodbye to all that, as the saying goes. Nowadays you're always on call, always responsible for any and all messages, in whatever format. Welcome to the Age of Constant Communication.

The real test of character is what we end up doing with that "Too Hard" tray on our desk -- or in our minds. All that stuff we just don't want to deal with right now, whether it's a bad review of our performance or some customer's unreasonable request or even a kid's impossible dilemma.

The successful business types among us grit their teeth and go through it, ruthlessly throwing out anything that doesn't mean more money or a promotion or peace of mind. They're focused and purposeful and not about to let anything "sentimental" get in their way. Sorry, kids, but I've got a job to do. The mid-level generalist types, most of us, work methodically through the "Too Hard" stack, evaluating each piece -- each letter, email, phone call -- on its own merits, not so quick to get rid of anything. Something we were too busy to read might actually turn out to be important. We're hoping to hold onto, or get again, a job like the one we just had to leave. We're twenty-two and really nervous about what it's like to be a grown-up in a world where almost everyone else has been a grown-up a lot longer. Or we're sixty and trying to help our grown kids cope with life. It's all hard -- too hard -- but we're going to try to deal with it. We wish we didn't have to, but we know we do. So we will.

We all recieve enormous amounts of information each day, from people and from media and from our senses, and we, knowingly or not, categorize it. Being an effective employee or spouse or parent or just person often depends on how well we sort out the messages we receive every day and how we prioritize them.

It's not a God-given ability. It's a skill. Worth learning.

It's just a (big) part of being human. We're all flying blind. Lord help us.

We need to stop insulting animals.

"He acted like an animal," the wronged woman laments.

"They're just animals," says the general, dismissing the enemy.

"You're like some kind of animal," the distressed mother says to her son, whose clothes are strewn about his room.

"These are obviously animals," the police spokesperson says in referring to whoever is responsible for a scene of multiple shootings, two or three or more people lying on the sidewalk, bleeding their lives away, probably dead already. "Animals," the chief says. "And we'll find them and bring them to justice."

How many of these references to animals are accurate and fair?

In the first instance, the cheated-on wife, her portrayal of her husband as an animal is, as the British say, more or less spot on. Unless I'm mistaken, the males of almost all species of animals have sex indiscriminately. Shame on them (and us) but they (we) do. In a way, they (we) can't help it. It's programmed in. It's what gives guys of all species a bad name.

In the second instance, the general trying to de-humanize the enemy, that's been going on since there were armies. He's making animals out to be vicious invaders who must be stopped. Who are they? What are they fighting for? They're animals, not humans. But of course they really are humans, not animals. They think and, we assume, thought out why they wanted to risk their lives in this particular cause. For sure there are ant colonies who invade others, but, for the most part, animals stake out their domain and live there peaceably unless invaded. They don't go looking for trouble.

I had a friend in high school who participated in what used to be called a "gangbang" (though I understand that word means something else now, related to gangs), which involved numerous males having sex with a drunk girl in the backseat of someone's car. Why my friend told his mother about this I can't imagine, but what she said was, "That's like a bunch of animals." And I think she slapped him and sent him to his room.

But I don't know of any animal conduct like this: multiple animals lining up to have sex with a single female. Maybe at weird times of the year or whatevever but not as a routine activity. It might make some sense biologically -- lots of males trying to impregnate a single female -- but it makes no sense socially or morally. If the girl did it willingly -- and yes, some do -- she needs lots of help that she probably won't get. Generally speaking, this kind of behavior is not normal and not okay.

In the third case, the teen with a messy room, I have nothing to go on. It seems to me that animals build a nest or a nesting place that is appropriate to their places for mating and raising their young, with nothing wasted, but I'm not sure. I'm beginning to think that there are neat people and messy people, a basic division that, if true, woul explain a lot about the differences between males and females. (This deserves an essay itself, don't you think?)

As for the last case, mulitple killings, I don't know of any animal who kills indiscrimately. They kill to eat, right? Or, in the case of those ants, to gain territory. Most of the time they sleep or, in the case of spiders I've watched, go almost comatose: staying in one position for not just hours but whole days. I think most animals, from insects up, are better at conserving their resources and protecting themselves than we are.

Which only makes sense considering that all they have to worry about is survival and getting enough to eat to ensure that survival. Animals are in the situation you and I were in a few hundred thousand years ago. Your ancestor and mine were making their way through a hostile world, trying to find a good place to spawn you and me.

They were then, as we are now, still plagued by random violence. Sometimes perpetrated by wild animals but, I'd bet, more often by some other family of pre/neo-humans.

I suspect that murder is a foreign concept for animals. Why kill someone without reason? I just don't think they do it. Why would they? (Why do we?)

So why is it that we associate our worst behavior with animals?

I hope it's not because we need to feel superior to someone, but I suspect that it is. That need to feel superior to someone is, of course, built into us and is, alas, the basis of racism. But it's also why we make so many disparaging comments and analogies regarding animals. We humans have a hard lot here on earth -- confusing and challenging and frustrating -- and we need to know that there is at least one class below us: the animals. It could be worse, right?

But so much of what we attribute to animal behavior is mistaken. Most if not all animals, from the lowest to the highest, from the single-celled whatever to the lion, to us, observe one basic rule: eat. Eat to live. It's the first biological commandment. (The second is this: procreate. I've never heard a third. Have you?)

And most animals don't attack one another unless it's for a good reason, the same ones humans fight over: territory, territory, territory. (Like they say in real estate: location, location, location.) For the most part, animals are no more prone to violence than you or me. Like us they live their existences with the least amount of stress they can manage. They love peace, as we do. But lots of them can be much more effective at warding off predators than you or me. They live a much more dangerous life than we do and have to be ready to fight off strange creatures who mean to kill them and maybe eat their young.

Yes, some animals can be very scary and do from time to time attack humans, but statistically we are, for all intents and purposes, pretty much free from animal attacks (unless we put ourselves in their way). Even those wildest and most dangerous of animals only attack when they're hungry or challenged, not just because they feel like fighting. Only humans start bar brawls; animals never do.

But we don't just stereotype animals as far as their ferocity is concerned; we also refer to and label them in much more condescending ways. "Timid as a bunny," for instance. Yes, we all like to think of the baby bunny or the stuffed bunny as something to cuddle. But if you were a real bunny, born and raised on the prairie, where lots of bunnies grow up -- if they do -- you would live your life in terror, knowing that every time you went out that burrow entrance, you were in sunlight and constant sight of that hawk up there with his 20/forever vision: he's been watching you from a thousand feet for long enough to fix his focus. You'd be timid, too, I bet.

But here's the sad part: you wouldn't know the danger that awaited you. Oh, you'd have a built-in sense that you needed to be careful, but nothing in your genes would tell you to look up. The hawk strike would come, literally, out of the blue. You'd feel a big hit, then probably nothing as you were lifted, semi-conscious, into the sky by talons whose bite was just starting to hurt in your ribcage. Do animals know when they're dying?

We really don't know much about animals except through their behavior. We observe their migration patterns and mating rituals and family interactions and feeding habits and so on, but we have no idea what they're thinking. Or if they're thinking. They're processing information, for sure, or they wouldn't know how to navigate through the woods (or the earth or the water), so we shouldn't discount that as not important. After all, we can't do it. Right?

I think we should respect life at all its levels and stop categorizing animals as this or that. A pig only looks like it eats too much and sloppily. It eats as much as it's supposed to and with the eating parts it was given. You ever seen a hyena face-deep in an eland carcass? When it raises its head, all you see is red. I'll take a hog rooting around in the mud any time. Foxes are alleged to be smart (or sly or quick), but sometimes they're not. More than one has been run over by a car after moving into our neighborhood from the nearby foothills. And who knows if elephants really remember better than other animals? Have you seen a study lately? I haven't.

Let's decide to value animals and only use them in our language in ways that honor, not demean , them. "Fast as a cheetah" is good. "Slow as a turtle/tortoise" is questionable, as you're identifying this ancient and mysterious animal as just "slow." Do you know ANYTHING else about him? Likely not. (I don't either but should.) Many of them live longer than you or me.

See what I mean? Let's give animals their due. Some of them have been here long before we arrived and will likely be here long after we're gone (if we're not careful).

Is it possible to use animals for our selfish purposes -- including killing and eating them -- and still show them respect? I think primitive peoples have done it, including (from lore) American Indians, who held rites over slain animals, thanking them for giving up themselves (however reluctantly). We can probably do a quickie version of that every time we get a take-out order at KFC. But, in general, we can at least be aware of animals as fellow citizens of the earth and show them some respect, even as we kill and eat them.

Ain't it great to be the dominant species?

How do you like your eggs?

Please don't tell me that you're watching your weight and/or cholesterol and can't eat eggs. Eggs are one of nature's miracle foods. Granted they started out to be some creature, but if caught early in the process, they don't form into real beings and are just good food.

My father raised chickens in my backyard when I was a kid in Texas, and one of my jobs was to collect the eggs, still warm, from under the nesting chickens. I don't think any one of those chickens missed the egg. They really do have tiny brains: just look at their heads in relation to their bodies. Hens, like milk cows, are programmed to make their product -- eggs and milk -- and apparently don't think much about it. The cow being milked likely gives no thought to the calf who might be drinking that milk. It's just what a cow does. Same thing for a chicken.

(This doesn't mean that a cow or hen doesn't care about her offspring; it just means that her milk or egg production goes on anyway, and if she has no calf or chick to take advantage, why not us?)

So if you can accept the idea of eggs as given to us -- more or less freely -- by the hens of the world, I ask again: How do you like your eggs?

I like mine over easy, cooked on one side and then either tossed over for just a few seconds or, better yet, covered and allowed to cook on the top side for no more than a minute or so.

I like to cook eggs in butter as I think it adds flavor. Maybe brown some garlic and onion in the butter before you put the eggs in. Toss some chopped chives over the top as you put the lid on. Grated cheese can also be added then.

Eggs, like beans, are one of the staples of life in lots of cultures. Because we have chickens to lay eggs all over the world, the egg is a staple everywhere. Just like beans. If you only ate eggs and beans -- with some local spices thrown in -- you would be fine. You would live long. And not be too taste-deprived.

In the South, they fry eggs and serve them with grits. In the Southwest, they smother them in spicy salsa. One recent trend is to serve very expensive stuff with a soft-boiled egg on top that you pierce with your fork and send the hot yolk streaming down over your entree. It calls for an absolutely perfectly soft-boiled egg, which is no easy feat. I say bravo!

Lots of people like their eggs scrambled, which is the way you find them on buffets. But eggs scrambled on a big scale don't usually work. To properly scramble an egg, you need to melt a little butter in the pan, then add the eggs and swirl them around, with whatever spices you want, but only let them cook until they're not liquid, then take them out and put them on a plate, as they'll keep cooking for a little while longer and end up perfect. Serve with a side of buttered toast and some good jam made by monks.

Boiled eggs are interesting. They have almost no taste, but added to chicken they make chicken salad (with some mayo, etc.); added to tuna they make tuna salad. Added to any kind of green salad, chopped up, they add texture. But they can be eaten alone, too: just sprinkle a little salt and pepper on each bite, and you have a hiking/picnic protein boost. I like to keep half a dozen boiled eggs in the fridge for whatever might come up. You can also "devil" them, which involves mixing the yokes with mustard and/or mayo and your favorite spices and serving them "on the half-shell" like oysters. Maybe sprinkle a little red pepper or paprika on top, depending on your audience.

There are omeletes, too, meaning semi-scrambled eggs folded over various ingredients, from onion to peppers to mushrooms to diced ham to anything you can think of -- shrimp? --and often topped with cheese (that should be melted). Some omelettes are real works of culinary art, but you won't find them at your next Holiday Inn, where the omelettes are filling and tasty but not inspiring. Use your imagination.

I think eggs can be as simple or sophisticated as you have time for or can afford. They are a wondrous food -- if you can get past the idea that they're un-formed chicks (the yolk) -- that lends a worthwhile dimension to our human palette. Face it. We humans like eggs. Like we like beef, we meat-eaters. And pork and chicken and fish, etc. It's just kind of who we are.

Let me mention two other ways that eggs are sometimes cooked: soft-boiled and poached. Both methods produce an egg that is softer. To poach an egg, you need to more or less steam it. Break it into some kind of container made for the purpose, above the boiling water, and put a lid on. After a certain amount of time -- you would have to consult a cooking book for details -- take the lid off and you have a perfectly formed egg that is pure white on the outside and pure soft yellow in the center. This is the basis of a famous dish you probably know, when combined with an English muffin and good ham and hollandaise sauce.

To soft-boil an egg, you just don't boil it as long. If you usually bring your eggs to a boil for three minutes, try cutting it to two. Take an egg out and check it. You want the white to be more or less cooked and firm but the yolk to be runny. That's a soft-boiled egg. Great over a piece of buttered toast. A little crisp bacon on the side doesn't hurt.

Breakfast is sort of the great democratic meal. At least in America. No one can fix one much better than the traditional one, which almost always features eggs. Eggs are the great equalizer. Figure out how to make eggs that your family and guests like, and you'll always be a hero, at least in the morning.

I admire vegetarians for their beliefs -- it really is kind of barbaric to kill animals just to eat -- as I admire the more extreme vegans who won't eat anything that comes from an animal. But I'm afraid I'm not quite there. I might be able to forego meat -- sometimes, maybe -- but I don't think I can give up cheese and sour cream and half-and-half for my coffee.

And eggs? Forget about it!

Everyone puts pressure on you -- so why put pressure on yourself?

If you have a job, you have pressure. Someone hired you and expects something of you. If you don't have a job, you have pressure: you need to find a job. If you have a job you don't like, you have pressure; you're doing something day after day that bores you or stresses you and doesn't make you feel good about yourself. Any time you're working for someone else, you feel pressure. Succeed or be fired.


When you go home, you're carrying a lot of that job with you, no matter how many times you wash your hands. You just did that for eight whole hours, and what do you have to show? After child care and insurance and groceries and gas and all that other stuff, maybe a few bucks in the coffee can buried under the sunflowers out back.

Yes, a lot of it comes from your bosses and your job situations. But how much pressure do you put on yourself?


It's worth stopping to consider.


You've been doing too much. You're letting yourself get stressed. You could let a few things go, get someone else to do them, especially the least important things. Unless you live alone, you have a mate and/or kids who can take some slack off you. Every now and then. Do you live alone? Order out. Get it delivered. Eat pizza in that hot tub you never cranked up. Pamper yourself. Whenever you can. However you can.


No one is going to do it for you. If they do, God bless 'em, but don't count on it.


If you work for someone else, you have pressure in your life. Recognize it, accept it, deal with it.

If you don't work for anyone, you have less pressure but still the kind you impose on yourself: okay, now you have all this time, what are you going to do with it? In other words, now's the time to prove what an artist/craftsman/whatever you are. You always thought if you only had time you would do this or that. Well, dude, you now have the time. Produce!


I'm thinking that we put pressure on ourselves from early ages all the way through to the end of our days. Trying to be bigger and stronger, or prettier, in our younger years to trying to be richer (and still prettier) in our later years. Do we humans not know how to pull back and relax? Admit that we can't do certain things, achieve certain goals, be who we thought we were going to be? Acknowledge, when the time comes, that are best days are behind us?

If we could, we'd relax and know that we did our best and that there are lots of things in life to enjoy that don't have anything to with us or our problems. Movie, anyone? Dinner? A good book? Sex?

Everyone puts pressure on you in this life. Well, not everyone but too many people. Why put pressure on yourself? You ought to be your own best friend, the only one who'll give you a pass from time to time, a day off, because you know you deserve it.

Be at peace with yourself. The rest will work itself out.

Not all illegal drugs are the same.

Supporters of legalizing marijuana have long complained that it's gotten a bad rap, that it is the least addictive of all the drugs the federal government classifies as dangerous. We're all thinking: did they ever try pot? Do they really not understand the difference between it and cocaine?

If you're still reading, you probably know the difference. Cocaine is addictive. Marijuana isn't.
Heroin is addictive. Marijuana isn't. Alcohol is addictive. Marijuana isn't.

If you're addicted to coke or its nasty relative crack, and if you run out, you're likely to knock over a 7-11 just to get money to buy more crack. If you've been smoking marijuana and you run out, you say, "Bummer" and don't worry about it until you get some more, if ever. Until you get it, you just drink beer or whatever. You don't obsess about getting more.

Not all illegal drugs are the same. Some addict you and even drive you to unspeakable deeds. Meth is famous for that: guys coming down from that "rush" have been known to kill people to get more of it or, again, the money to buy more. That's never happened, so far as I know, with users of marijuana.

The problem with the drug laws in our country is that they lump so many different kinds of drugs into a single category: illegal and dangerous.

Let's back off for just a moment and re-consider.

To re-cap. There are, to be sure, some very dangerous and addictive drugs. These include heroin, meth, and cocaine. Their danger is that they give you lots of un-earned energy (which is why you feel like sh*t when they wear off). They also can suppress your appetite, which depletes your body. Over time, they can kill you. Even if you're young and athletic. Or an artist.

There are also drugs that mess with your mind and let you see things that don't exist, meaning the hallucinogens -- LSD most famously but others I don't even know about. Used sparingly, on special occasions, among like-minded friends, they can be a source of extra-planetary entertainment. Used indiscriminately, alone, by troubled people, they can lead to big trouble.
Psychosis and violence.

Then there are the anti-depressants, like Valium and Prozac and others, which can entice sad people into a dependency that is hard to get out of. They lull you into not dealing with issues in your life you probably need to deal with. I'm willing to bet you know someone who is addicted to an anti-depressant, whether she or he admits it.

Marijuana is in a class by itself. It elevates your mood a little, makes you more aware of things around you and also gives you the munchies, which is why it's so often prescribed for cancer patients whose horrendous treatments have left them with no appetite. It really is kind of a miracle drug: makes you feel better with no side effects, including no hangover. And it's not manufactured, as the more addictive drugs are: it grows wild, ready for the picking, a weed.

I'm sorry that our nation's leaders -- many, if not most, of whom have tried marijuana -- are too chicken to legalize it and tax it and make it available to everyone. Lord, those of us who have used it -- and would like to again -- would pay big money to be able to buy it legally, so much money, in fact, that we could likely pay for a health system to cover all Americans.

If you haven't tried marijuana, and if you get the chance, give it a go. You'll be surprised, and, like me, you'll wonder why in the world we didn't start selling this legally and taxing it a long time ago.

Some solutions slap us in the face, but we pretend we didn't notice the slap.

Slap! Didn't get that? Here it is again. Slap!!!

Legalize marijuana. But keep an eye on meth and coke and crack and heroin. Know your enemy, but don't confuse your enemy with your friend.