Last night I ended my blog up with the comment, and sentiment: "It's a small world...But then, a lot of things are different from when I was growing up."
As to that world. A friend has emailed me in concern for my advanced age, and what I plan to do about it. My response will be something like:
‘I don’t plan on going anywhere. I am here to see the Old World out, and the New World in. And I mean, World. This is not just the end of an era This is the end of an Age. A cosmic Age.
'We’re turning the corner - having gone out as far as we reasonably can, on the current level of consciousness - and heading for Home. One Dimension at a time. Each complete with sub-planes.'
I’m not sure how that sort of reply is going to go down with my friend. But it’s the best I’ve come up with so far.
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…and speaking of the end of an era:
A ‘neighbor’ on our local Nextdoor email network has posted the story of the imminent demise of a very old Southern California icon; the site owner jacking up the rental in order to move the occupant on and make way for the likes of condos. Originally a seafood restaurant adjacent to the beach, with a huge marlin neon sign atop the building advertising the location, it was then turned into a Don the Beachcomber Tiki palace. The latter after my time living in the area, though apparently not by much: in the ‘60s, I read in the article on the sad passing of an icon. As Sam’s Seafood, I had eaten there a few times, in the late ‘40s-early ‘50s. Growing up in Southern California. The good life. Now, subjected to changes that I, in my retirement years in my old haunts, am having a hard time with.
It was ever thus? Not quite. Now we are being inundated with - well, I’ll let my comment on the article tell that tale:
Have to make way for progress. In this case, most probably the progress of more illegal aliens, er, residents, anticipated to flock to live the good life in sanctuary state California, and on the beach in Southern California to boot. CondominiumsRUs these days, doncha know. Roll up, roll up. We take EBT cards.
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Somewhere along the way, on my inveterate reader's lifeline, I read a nostalgic book by a man whose home town, and the stomping grounds of his youth, somewhere in the southeast of the country, were flooded over, in the passage of time and circumstances.
I know the feeling.
Only his situation had an element of legitimacy to it.
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P.S. I have belatedly realized that an email that I sent today as a Letter to the Editor to The New American magazine has relevancy to this blog, too. And I will definitely now close it on that note:
--
Somewhere along the way, on my inveterate reader's lifeline, I read a nostalgic book by a man whose home town, and the stomping grounds of his youth, somewhere in the southeast of the country, were flooded over, in the passage of time and circumstances.
I know the feeling.
Only his situation had an element of legitimacy to it.
--
P.S. I have belatedly realized that an email that I sent today as a Letter to the Editor to The New American magazine has relevancy to this blog, too. And I will definitely now close it on that note:
'Dear Editor:
'Robin Kinderman, regarding her two Features articles in the TNA for March 5, is to be commended, like the author of the book that she cites in one of them ('Selfie'), for thinking outside of the box that she was raised and educated in and, instead of blindly defending her Special Self, educated herself to the larger picture.
'There is hope yet. But it requires a return in our schools to a decent regard for the history of this nation in teaching it fairly, with an eye to education. Not indoctrination. We have certainly had enough of the latter, to last us at least a couple of Lost Generations.
'Give the old gal America her due. She deserves it.
'Sincerely,'
etc.
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