Everything Changes
Good sense is the foundation of all good writing.
Samuel Kirkham
The ancient Greek philosopher, Heraclitus, coined the term “panta rhei,” which translates into English as “everything changes.” When I was practicing medicine, The Focus allowed me to send my essays on Friday mornings instead of Thursday, which was less convenient for the staff. However, since I am now retired, I submit my columns by 6:00 p.m. Thursday evening along with other contributors. I’ve come to like the Thursday schedule, but now Friday seems like Saturday to me. And if I did not have small group meetings throughout the week with friends, I would never know what day of the week it is. Such is retirement.
I was never fascinated with the 1912 Titanic tragedy, although I enjoyed the movie. And I can highly recommend the Titanic Museum in Pigeon Forge. It is a fascinating and wonderful venue. However, I would never get in a submersible to “land” on the ocean floor 12,000 feet below to see the original wreck.
When I was a kid, the TV series “Sea Hunt” intrigued me with the thought of silently floating under the sea. I used to scuba dive, but quickly learned that underwater serenity was an illusion because the scuba regulator makes a racket when you breathe – and breathing is necessary. I also learned the dangers of entering a foreign environment. At a depth of even 50 feet, a mistake or equipment failure can be fatal.
We have all made mistakes, but years ago I made a mistake scuba diving that could have cost my life. I joined a group of divers in the Cayman Islands and my mistake was overriding my own judgment and trusting our “Dive Captain” who took us to “The Black Hole.” The so-called thrill was to descend 50 feet down to an opening on the ocean floor, and then swim about 30 feet in the dark to exit at a depth of 100 feet over the “Deep Blue,” 5000 feet below the continental shelf. However, my scuba tank apparently shifted as I navigated in the dark and because I had no reference point, I soon struck my head against the passage wall. I suddenly thought, “I’m a dead man, lost in an ocean cave.”
Fortunately, my NAUI training saved me from panicking, although I can’t remember whether I “wet” my wetsuit. In short order, I located a faint distant blue in the blackness and made it out to join my group hovering over the Deep Blue. I no longer seek thrilling adventures, nor do I override my common sense.
I’m always writing and alert for topics that interest me and hopefully my readers. Some of the intrigue of this column may be not knowing where I’m going with an essay or what the Doctor might say. Admittedly, my interests are varied and so are my essays.
When my grandchildren were younger, I used to tell them, “Let’s take a walk; we might see something.” It’s interesting what you see when you walk. Your perspective is much different than when you’re driving a car. Becky and I walk in our neighborhood and I always carry a plastic grocery sack to pick up trash thrown along the roadside by “animals” driving through. Actually, that’s unfair to animals who rarely foul their own nests.
Some years ago, a young man with Rastafarian dreadlocks stopped and asked me what I was doing. I said I was picking up trash while walking. He looked puzzled, so I invited him to join me, but he said, “No, I couldn’t do that” and drove off.
I have found all sorts of garbage and detritus walking along Woodson Drive, a major connector between Alcoa Highway and Maryville Pike in South Knoxville. Examples include soiled children’s diapers, beer cans and bottles, fast-food waste and assorted garbage. I once wrote an essay about trash bags thrown in front of my mailbox by drive-through lowlifes.
We hear much about Democrat-run cities with drugs, crime, filth and homelessness. Last week, I found a discarded hypodermic needle and syringe at my driveway. Recently, there was a drug bust in an adjacent neighborhood. And an 18-year-old was found shot to death only a mile or so from our home. Increasingly, I see confused or intoxicated people wandering the roads and talking to themselves. And homeless encampments are cropping up around Knoxville. Yes, these people have their freedom, but do they have the freedom to litter or endanger the rest of us with drugs and crime? Mayor Kincannon, it is false compassion to coddle these societal ills and disturbed people. Don’t bring San Fran-sicko or the hood to K-town.
The liberal Democrat “social experiment” is a dismal failure everywhere. Even my more-liberal-than-me daughter has decided to leave Portland, Oregon, for a safer environment in which to raise the children. And Austin, the San Francisco of Texas, is reportedly in an economic and social downward spiral as a result of liberal Democrat policies. Knoxville is typically behind social trends. Good! I pray that voters wise up and turn the Democrats out before they bring the ills of Gotham here.
Like the country, my body is changing. I’m not as strong as I used to be. However, north of 70, as you wake up with stiffness and aching, you should consider these an affirmation that you’re still alive.
I took my grandchildren to Dollywood recently. Not surprisingly, my eleven- and eight-year-olds have no interest in Dolly’s great musical shows. As I said, I’m no longer a thrill seeker like my younglings who are roller coaster devotees. However, I got my man card stamped by riding the Wild Eagle with its upside-down loops, twists and gut-wrenching turns! I also did a couple of roller coasters with them, but these are not advisable for a “seasoned citizen” with an arthritic neck.
Sport is made of The People of Walmart, but the sketchy outfits I saw on rotund people gorging themselves on funnel cakes at Dollywood were not a pretty sight. Becky and I decided we were holding up and adequately resisting the changes of aging. We also concluded that most of the people we saw would look better with more clothes rather than less. I wonder what Heraclitus would think.
